Tag Archives: ghosts

Tony Bennett’s Ghost

1 Nov

 

Tony Bennett’s Ghost

 

She was drinking Mai Tais

in the Tonga Room

where she wrote me an email

that I didn’t get

 

because life: is like that

 

There was an email

and then there wasn’t an email

and I don’t understand almost everything

anyway, so

 

Where’d it go?

 

Did it get itself lost inside the haunted house of the internet?

Did it trust an honest faced porn site for directions?

Was it seduced by mermaids and dragged down beneath the waves

of a Philip K Dick envisioned sea?

 

How do I know?

 

It’s not in my inbox

and it’s not in her outbox

It’s in the just-vanished box

pre-ordering the next Taylor Swift album

drinking whiskey like a tired gladiator on its day off

 

It’s gone

 

Nobody knows where it is now

but when I’d first heard it was missing

I was immediately sure I knew what had happened to it

 

because I’m occasionally cocky like that

 

I had become convinced with the equivalent

of zero doubt that

The Ghost of Tony Bennett Stole it

 

Tony Bennett’s ghost stole our email!

I insisted to her almost immediately

across the internet

 

I could just see him, Tony Bennett’s ghost

morphing his way away from the bar

smoking a quick cigarette with a potted plant

Trading pizza jokes with Don Rickles

 

as he absentmindedly swiped our email

out of the internet air, somehow mistaking it

at the time for his the phone number of a 1960’s cocktail waitress

or his car keys

 

With me, screaming

 

Leave that cocktail waitress alone! and

You’re in no shape to drive!

It’s Halloween for juke-box-sake!

 

Give us our fucking email Tony Bennett!

I could feel myself screaming

 

I was rambling at this point, naturally

when she pointed out, quite correctly

It couldn’t have been Tony Bennett’s ghost

that stole our email, because

 

Tony Bennett’s not dead

and she was right

I knew that

 

Of course Tony Bennett’s alive

and we’ll always have Tom Petty

Only songs can save us now

 

So what the fuck stole our email?

Advertisements

I Shaved My Balls For You

31 Aug

spike buffy

I Shaved My Balls For You

 

I shaved

my balls for you

 

I don’t know why

because you were already

gone, but I shaved my balls

 

Not with a razor

but with the nervous terror

that comes with all these years

of whatever this is

and loss

 

I shaved my balls

so smooth

you could build a haunted house on them

if you wanted to

 

but upon doing so

the house would just:

slip off

 

and while clinging to gravity

crumble

into a pile of balls-touched timber

and homeless ghosts

 

So please don’t build a house on my nuts, darlin’

because I just shaved them

and they’re too goddamn sensitive

and slippery

and why would you want to do something

like that anyway?

 

If you build a house on my nuts

you’d have to live there

and you don’t want to live there

 

You want to live elsewhere,

where everyone sweats ice tea

and wears underpants

and lives in cute houses not built

beneath their ex-person-they-used -to

love’s dicks

 

Which seems weird (to me)

[slight pause] that you live there, but

that’s where you live so:

 

ok [while looking left, to move on]

 

I don’t live there though, obviously

I live over here,

with great white shark ice sculptures

and a front row view of the vacant

lot that is my nuts

 

maybe I should plant flowers there

and watch them die because nobody waters them

like Sinead O’Conner does in that Prince song or

Taylor Swift sings about in that one song of hers

where she borrows a line about flowers from Prince

 

Shit

that reminds me, tonight:

Prince is dead!

Gene Wilder just died!

 

and I shaved my balls for you!

for some melodramatic/goddamn reason

 

Ha!

 

and when it was over

and all the tiny hairs had been vanquished

to the solitary confinement

of the bathroom floor, for a couple of seconds

 

I thought about calling you, but didn’t

because: fuck phones

ergo: instead of doing that

 

I figured it was time to start

re-watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer again

and walked off towards the sunset living room

 

as the neighbor’s heavy dogs

roared

their Donald Trump guts out

 

and the lamp beside my futon burst

into tears

that looked like

pummeled light

Perfume

18 Oct

perfume

Perfume

you attract ghosts

like a catcher’s
mitt attracts a 10 yr
old boy in love
with the game

this world is a beautiful graveyard

you tag me
like a séance
I fall over you
like a velvet crane

pulling us together

caskets filled with love

 

 

 

(from my first book Beautiful Graveyards, Farfalla Press)