Hump Day. How appropriate, Elisa.

BLOGPOEM W/ BLUE BALLS


Dude. How could you seduce me w/
your date-rape-drug metaphor, your
beautiful, your bisexual non sequitur,
& then make like a tree for the neon
SORTIE sign of our moment’s theater?
You missed a great scene: the fields
on screen just exploded into lushness
like contagious brushfire, like they’d
nabbed a horrifically gorgeous rash.
Now the moment’s over; can’t even
save the stubs ‘cause the tix’ve been
digitized. But it’s all in my mind—
your bloodshot, your gut-shot eyes,
your phraseology all sibilant & slant-
rhymed like a pseudo-sonnet from
the Portuguese. DUDE. Your sweat
Chinese-water-tortures me, you make
my heart feel like a would-be Houdini,
etc.