Preoccupations with Lines


permanently stationed on passenger's side,
ass gripping maroon interior like never before

sneaking peeks of the scene, the moving & shaking
through a 10 inch crack in the windshield, listening to

rotors making out with curves, climaxing
coming down when we come out, exhaling.

reservations for the lonely at 9:00

to discuss the politics of love, our love,
imagined love.  what we're in, when we're in it

for the conversation and kisses and sometimes
just the glance that bounces back and forth,

hurling itself off the front panels of a '92 caprice
equipped with scales and girl, miscellaneous cd cases

credit card and everything else a man needs
to pull an all nighter within the city limits

while i busy myself, plunking soul below carpet
dissecting unspoken words, leaving residue on fingers, door handle, windshield, crack

contemplating our preoccupation with lines;
mine with poetry, yours with something of a slightly different substance

both consuming, but i don't mind the work days
and the sniffle that poetry doesn't produce.