Juke Box Heal

Strong satur-a-day and night, gold lining
of the dull, rusted bronze of the week
lips puckered at sight, of a wednesday
pampered as the center of the right
wing journied, toweled and damp, weekend
touch-sick-mess plagued and plaguing
happy faces with the greasy splotch
of a leafless sculptor drained of his
absinthe.

Massive.
String theory as we walk, talk our way
around days and weeks and months till
its all years, fogotten quicker than
remembered, forgetting with each new
phrase humbled though the lips of
present place and time and sickly lime
grunges the place, stinking solids waltz,
hilt-bladed hip in swing to the merry,
jubilant rat-t-t-t-tat of car motors early
morning flush.

My Infinitesimal Crush.
Smooth, it settled back though, months
beyond the poem written and fawned
praised and palaced in fresh blue-green
liquid sedate, back to fishing and troubling
the bait, back to dancing with you over
marble countertops in drip-drop motion,
tilt-stop emotion, back to sewing time
as meant to be, art of all artisty,
fickled and crumbling each second, each
step sudden and uncontrived, missed,
determined, sudden, loved, sudden- sudden,
and brash.