the latest Distant Castle conversation poem
You’re lacking serenity, you’re mushing.
Your fingernails are the same color as the interior of Chopsticks.
But focus for a second before you snap, figure out the word for it—
pin it down like when you lay a woman down.
This woman is a lot of sound, texture, growling, growing.
I threw my bow at her and it broke in half.
The damage now is several generations away
from Amos and Andy, the society of ill illustrators,
from my first moment of self sacrifice:
cooking salad, throwing rocks at trees—I’m having Java Hut flashbacks!
He’s a sociopath, that’s why he’s important,
and that’s why you’re wearing lipstick.
Will you look at me for a half-second, Jim?
My pussy is in distress.
I’m going to know the answer: what’s the question?
Your ears are too small to put words inside of.