I’m Gonna Bust Out With The Tortoiseshell Frames

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I’m gonna bust out with the tortoiseshell frames

I can take a sensual selfie if you please

Come in for a closer look, Lady

Grab my hair while I’m down on my knees

Let me taste your sweet serenity

Forget the boys who don’t know how

It’s not your job to make them men

You’re here, within my clutches now

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I’m Gonna Bust Out With The Tortoiseshell Frames

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I’m gonna bust out with the tortoiseshell frames

I can take a sensual selfie if you please

Come in for a closer look, Lady

Grab my hair while I’m down on my knees

Let me taste your sweet serenity

Forget the boys who don’t know how

It’s not your job to make them men

You’re here, within my clutches now

Her Beauty Attracts Boys Like Flies

  

Her beauty attracts boys like flies
But that’s what they are – mere flies
With no substance at all
She needs something more
To match her depths & multi-facetted being
I pray that one day
God will create such a man
Worthy of such a woman

She Was Telling Stories About Her Darker Creases

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She was telling stories about her darker creases
Seaside jaunts with a tireless string of boys
Social classifications leaving us feeling abused
Systematically wearing down a soul without any noise
Searching for fun in spite of former cuts & bruises
Sensations nearing proportions of hazy juvenile tales
Snapping to after another round of spirited friends
Sold on a notion even though our memory may fail
Sandy journeys bring us back to where we were lost
Still meandering around the area we remember most
Striking out to change the way our life unfolded
Stagnant when we finally return back from the coast

A Palpable Desire

A palpable desire
Feeling it from deep within
Drowning my anxiety
Beneath 4 olives, vermouth & gin
Supposed to be a functioning adult
But I say bollocks to all that noise
It wasn’t all that long ago, still
Running the streets with the boys
Though I dress better now
The soul leaking through cracks
My heart is a fragile commodity
Foreboding the oncoming attack

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Most Guys

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Most guys

Will tell as many lies

As it takes to get between your thighs

But that’s not my goal

I’m just trying to find something to fill this hole

That has been left in my soul

*this is one of the first poems I can remember writing. I believe it goes back to ’94 or ’95.

You’re Cold, Calculated & Good-Looking

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You’re cold, calculated & good-looking

Left behind your classmates long ago

Wandering the bottom of telegraph hill

Boys of the varsity crew dutifully row

Looking down through expensive lenses

Never stooping below your vertical reach

Self-confidence not what you reveal

Truth of the matter, aren’t you a peach

Through all these delicate years

I’m still here, feeling sorry for you

Hiding in this city is not an escape

An anonymous life not so fresh & new

Skirting this issue you may complete

Being breezy like a windless chime

Slipping just between your fingers

This just must not be the time