Monday, February 1, 2010

Dawn DiBartolo


i feel like...
i feel like, way over strung,
like a guitar string
twisted out of tune, my anxiety
is driving me super-speed
down a one-way street,
and its not where i want to go.
my thoughts are all...are all, not,
cuz p-p-prozac clouds the mind
to numb the soul.
if i don't feel
i won't hurt no more...
if i don't feel
i won't hurt no more.
this time...this time and place,
i've written before.
i seem stuck in stutter,
a poetic impediment easily
remedied by p-p-prozac
...clouds the mind
to numb the soul.
if i don't feel i won't...
i won't hurt no more.


ego stroke a leo.
finger-fuck a taurus.
bore us all with your diatribe,
cancer, as to why
man is morally screwed.
scale the libra,
measured not in the least,
and feast upon the scorpio.
lie to a gemini and
bind him to an aries;
perfect pair, both truth impaired.
each beast needing
of his own accord.


O, my kingdom...
my kingdom for
a fucking break in the line
leading me along
the path of ants,
tiny mites working
day and night,
non-stop, and for what?
no treasures glimmer
in my stockpile.
O, my kingdom
for some peace
and maybe even quiet.
riotous rebel-rousers
all demanding flesh
for my debts, as if
they've no knowledge
that my fingers are bone.
O, my kingdom...
my kingdom for a king
to take care of mighty things
that i may lie about and be...
pretty, and shiny as a trophy,
harlot of his nightly dreams.
O, my kingdom...

Commuter Train

hawaiian shirts
in boastful bright colors
study the morning news -
the sports page seems
of most interest.
business suits sway in aisles
with the motion of the train,
their attach├ęs casually grazing
the hips of passers-by.
and the women...
my god, the women
are a special morning treat.
they smell so pretty-sweet in
their bronzed summer flesh
exposed to professionalism
and non-sensible strappy heels,
that gain the appeal
of hawaiian shirts and suits alike.
the gentlemen let the ladies slide by,
incidental contact
preying in both their eyes.
and as these splendors disembark,
gratitude for longing
embedded in all her
womanly wiles,
its her smile that imparts
"have a good day,"
as she sashays away.
and the afternoon daydreams
waft from her hips like the scent

-all poems previously published at Strange Road

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