in coronation
I became someone
you couldn't love
a traitor
we made love
in a maintenance closet
on the 18th floor
we stopped
because it hurt you
your hat
has a speckled lizard
on it
it comes and goes
in cycles
in cycles baby
you chaGRIN like please,
but when you take off my
cashmere sweater
this, we have
becomes sinister
a sort of sonata
you're not supposed to dance to
your
two blue beads I extract from their shell
then I take them and put them inside my
ocelot eyes
the world is just full of cats
quoi ca? quoi ca?
where do we go now?
if you love me you will
take off your pelican shirt
you say,
love is left handed anyways,
and sip from your herbal
beverage of choice
legs crossed;
railroad ties
well maybe we're relatives
because we're both cousins to
the cold
Kruos squeeze
cruel dalmation
acquaintance
cloud finger
rule
Author notes
This is one part of three in what I'm conveniently calling "the napkin poems."
I came home to Cincinnati from Chicago a few weeks ago and the bus was almost an hour early-- an hour before my brother and ride home got out of school. So I milled about the nearby Tower Place Mall and eventually found my way to Netherland Plaza, a four or five star hotel. I wound my way up the ornate staircases past grand ballrooms, opulent restaurants and a convention hall until I reached my destination on the second floor, the toilet. I noticed upon leaving the restroom that the paper towels provided were quite nice. They were inscribed with the logo "NP" at the head and the address on the bottom. So I grabbed a stack and now back in Chicago have taken to inscribing poetry on them.
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