addiction’s embarrassment
spilled out onto the street
it reminded her of kool aid
it reminded me of Billie
and Ella and problem divas
from after-school specials

grace left its gossamer veil
at the gate of heaven/hell
sunny-side up
a tacky note
be back sometime
maybe soon.

we grind out
our teeth and pelvic grins
we respect rakish nature
no nature at all
picking out targets out
of laziness, need, convenience

this manufactured desire
spells out our name
in the buzzing vacancy
that sputtering glow
with shiny rainy streets
like rosy film noir

our identities
remain on plastic cards
in our hasty shed-skin
new reptiles that
search, search–with fresh batteries
exfoliating and carving

fill no voids
that glove that fits
all the wrong fingers
too perfectly tight
a ballet with xylophones
in need of headphones

© Tom Watters  10/21/06

crashing a car
doesn’t teach
the car any lessons

selling a book
doesn’t make the words
richer

the paint from any nozzle
can speak as loudly
as that
from a brush

trash is as beautiful
as the perfect naked breast
in the light fantastic

in the light

even the tiniest music
rests on an ear

© Tom Watters  10/18/06

falseland provided
safety ropes
and pleasant shades
of saintly colors
like a Vatican clown

always there
always telling the
sweetest lies

her morphine
was not an addiction
more a curseword
making one long for
the sweet taste of soap

an admonishment with
no recourse
no mirror
no toll
no.

sang its
siren song of slumber
in a breath of pity

falseland’s anthem
a run-on
death sentence
in a minor key
to a bad apartment

lawn sculpture,
self-winding clocks
and the reminder
of delayed mortality
and hidden decay

the wry smile
of an agenda
you are not in this game
you are it

players change
and the window fogs
and the tax is due
the tax is due
death won’t help this hot date
there is a line of
pinch hitters down the street

your stand in
falseland
has run its course
the lease was written
in disappearing ink

© Tom Watters  10/11/06