Cockroaches come out
to cavort in the dark

descending the walls
ascending from sewers

coming from the cracks
the cobbles, the corners

like infantrymen
like mourners

scattering when there is light
scattering seamless from sound

my thoughts
are cockroaches

running always running
diseased and fearing death

there is only hunger
and antennae-twitching fear

and the need to forage
when the world is black

and the perception of the billions
be damned

The Corner

I am
Just disregarded refuse tossed in the corner
Picked up and smoothed out when needed
Then flung back into the corner


I dreamed
That ridiculous dream
Of the gypsy lover
Slowly rubbing her perfect little body along mine,
Soft as melting butter and the color of sand in flames,
Whispering I love you
And sucking and bucking
Like a demon,
My childly mind consumed.
I breathed her,
Conjured her at night,
Pretended that she was embodied
In countless dazed or bewildered
Or dismissive women.

And now here I am
Torn at the edges,
Dirty, worse for wear
And gathering dust
In the darkest corner of the room
Waiting for another
To pick me up and smooth me out
Because she wants to bask
In the pretty words
And the validation
For that moment before
Boredom and dissatisfaction
Puts me in my corner

My Hatred

My hatred is not for people
But for things and for ideas and ideals
Just as my love is more inclined to
Ideas and ideals than actual people
But I do like you well enough
So let’s have a few drinks and talk
As long as you don’t get too mouthy
About all these ideas and ideals I love
And I hate
Knowing I’ll never hate you
But it’s so easy for me to not like you
And gets ever easier
As I tilt the glass and
In this little tower
Also made of glass.