White Russians At The Portfolio

Welling up from the existence
of his prescribed poems
i vanish into Women's
i sit in the lounge
a woman cleans carpet
comes in
says hi
i ask f the day has been
gd or bd
and her answer,
well it's been good you'all

where have i been in my mind
during the "stand"
have been traveling to Moscow
with a lament for Kara's eyes
glowing like men's footsteps
crossing the terrestial planets
of their own
loving a virgin's hiss
knowing that i don't have you
yet hearing your phantom voice
i can't go back in there
there is no-one I recognize
that night

no-one I know
one travels and never really
knows
how a Russian thinks

i cry that you
are not there
skimming my flesh with your
royal pen

in my dream it dsnt rain
patterns of your skin
on the pain anymore like
it used to

i am wondering when i was
in bed with you
and listening to your bee breath

look at the time
i am smoking a cigarette
in the interlude of a full
feature
there is nothing but my tar breath
my next cigarette

you had purple sage passion
postcards to sell
I think
as I flip the cover on the
book by Yev
I recall buying at The Atlantic
downtown

my sheltered dreams in an
empty magic box
of paper dragons
i am free tonight


Postnote: I had read briefly at The Portfolio Cafe in Pittsburgh myself, where White and Black Russians amongst other drinks were served.