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dirty nails, she says with such virility odd her femininity is unquestioned. Then why does she grow angry as we gaze into her happy but broken Arabic eyes and mention calmly Monogamy is like carbonated water, has fizzle, pop, pop -- don't want the party to stop but, smack of the lips, it is tasteless. 3. Reflex shotgun mechanism at the little devil I am a child of the corn stalks adapted and drafted for the burning black rapids (the army ain't for me, men, the army ain't for me mountains, barb wire, unit of my own -- army still gon' come get me).  |
Can you write without hands? I ask each recruiter, my future possibly a well-paid writer penning poems on coffee-stained napkins hand shaking vehement chickenscratch remembering deeds done. Now she says Should be writing about our café then -- fakes here wish I would tell her how much I hate boulevard cafés though French fox pits, redlight fleshblood mannequin quips, café stints is where they threw slave brave black tiger soldiers killed Frenchmen like Wow with honors, papers quoted the French man Nous mourrions avec eux We would 
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