Here´s my newest "work-in-progress":
This is not a love poem…
Hey babe, just in case you haven’t noticed
we are not nor have we ever been in
There are girls out there for you, a true plethora
but not one with Angelina’s eyes and mouth, Raquel´s
bra-size and a roll of witty comments written
into the script.
No one out there for me
as sleek and daring - and gentle -
as Johnny, and of course, no endings with that perfect
of babies and no-place-like -home.
Around here things are looking more like
a freak show these days,
the littered carnival grounds where after hours
a few desperate creatures come scampering in
or many unedited hours of footage
and when the lights go on
or when the sun comes up
i am here alone with my headache and you,
across town, with your change
strewn across the floor to
remember how much you spent last night
looking for happiness or at least
a few cold moments of pleasure.
Hey babe, this is just the first cold winter of a
where we can still sit in warm cafés and read
the newspaper and argue
about the worth of our words. Put your
pen to the paper. Love
your daughter. Open your heart and
this time, don’t be late:
next train to paradise, quarter past twelve.