I Love my Duracells
I'm caught between Scylla and
Charybdis--
my Duracells just went capute
and from the chambers of the human heart
bloodless screams.
Fay, don't wither--
My poems, like the cool of muscadines
wrinkle, and here we are sleeping off bow-legged
days of thunderous calm.
Regretless nights we had strength to open the bubbly
and straight legs with which to roam downtown.
Now love hours are aloft in other rooms, inner tones
where the sun cannot steep our lips in dawn. Fuck it.
We'll watch TV while you stroke me your silver soft-foot.
We've got TV.