for raymond carver

he waited with his toes out from under the covers,
and muttered "bon nuit", rum-laced, heart blank,
his poems written and unwritten and at last forgotten.
he lost them in wispy clouds of catalogue lovers,
in bathrooms and neon motels without thanks,
with carnivorous fervor unleashed in peruvian cotton.
and without affection for his daughter's mother,
whispered, "you are nothing", tiger-like, frank
as cleopatra slept, forgetting the rotten.

JHS

Jesserae

Jesserae

Jesserae, O Jesserae:
inevitably predicting the impossible
all night
with two french girls
and their gay escorts
forming a Nuvaring 'round ye
preventing my would-be assailing
of a most unlikely virginihood

Jesserae, O Jesserae:
I am too drunk to remember your name
moments after you tells me
So I forget. So I ask again
So I forget. I ask your friends.
So I forget. I ask my friends
to ask your friend
I am may be too drunk,
but your name is too dumb to remember
so my phone does it for me.

Jesserae, O Jesserae:
I will siege your walls daily
with sexual trumpets
or by the minute
'til you hand over your self control
and the keys to your Peugeot
to me.

Jesserae, O Jesserae:
Queen of the infinite gyro biscuit wheel
Dutchess of touches
Earlette of the lemon wedge
Saviour of the battle of the Dancefloor
take me to your industrial palace
of wrecked fantasy
and show me, O great nymph
your secular world.

Jesserae, O Jesserae:
I want to put my hand on your ass
and squeeze your cheeks
not because I think you are attractive
but because I'm sure I am
in my warped haze
losing traction and detracted
but not attracted
to you, sweet Jesserae.

Jesserae, O Jesserae:
mon petit chou
I will miss your cold eyes
made cold by eye shadow
and running mascara
and horrible accent
and the smell of one hundred armpits
waving in the wind.

PDM