all.that....

all head-to-toe in designer suits from
pretending to be
all-grown-up

straight to my favorite
jazz club where
the drinks are strong
and its always sweet sweaty

the trombone player jumps onto
the bar and
the red and blue lights
dance
off his brass
instrument of entertainment;
more violent
than the couples
twirling crazy on the floor;
shuffle shuffle kick;
faster than the
amber beer
swirling in my glass as my hips shake
gyrate
to the rhythm.

the paneled walls swirl. lights in everyone's hair
it bends.
it all bends.

his shoes shuffle around rocks glasses, bottles
and the trombone bobs
precariously around heads
until he yells at everyone to
call back the tune
call back the tune
call back the tune

and we oblige. my ankles and wrists in perfect syncopation.

the singer wails
"i'll lay my
body on
canal street" and we agree
raising glass, hands, voices
until the
heat
sound
passion
sweat
overflows from sweet frenchman street
on a thursday
night
in new
orleans.

mix it up, bartender.
mix it up for me.

beep, clank

laverne scott
carries
a pocket full of magnets


looking for
a
love robot.

i shot andy warhol

andy painted life and filmed people as people and not things.

(becoming part of the machine?)

life: art and love
is art and love

um, no.
um, yes.

art can come from a machine, (but it doesn't turn the gears)

if you put the microphone in the shot people don't forget it is a movie.
because reality is not like this, um, no.

off the mark

do you have any more lessons for me??

he said before i slammed the door

somethings never,
ever
change.

i have a vocabulary word: compassion.

spell it out. use it in a sentence.

you eat grass and i'll pirouette on the hardwood floor (smells like lemons and dust); there's a million of you and only [] of me. i'll never get back that nickle and dime: is this called "making memories"?

i wouldn't eat you
even if you were wrapped in felt and syrup.

mark it down in your composition book.