Friday, October 23, 2009


Yes, I wrote a poem about the "bummer" I described in my post about the Alternative Press Expo a few days ago. It's out of my system now. I promise.


her hand down his pants
his hand down hers
another hand grips a wallet
another hand clutches a purse

but they don’t want your money today

and he’s dancing,
funkier than the funky chicken
more forbidden than the Lambada

to the shadows
and it
to each other

on the upper east side
a family man
would give anything
to wear those worn out shoes

hypocritical city
infinitesimal pity
local political subcommittee
wants to clean up
this part of town

but the filthiest part
isn’t what they’re doing

it’s that they’ve no place to go
when it’s over

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