strange poems that were written to cfw, but were not published

Chartruese Blues

I woke up this morning
with chartreuse on my mind.

I woke up this morning
hung from too much wine.

I drank too much at the opening,
now my woman's name is Ashley Sunshine.

Ashley, she wants Chinese brocade;
Ashley, she wants a couch custom made.

I don't know how I ended up with this design gal,
I don't know how I drank so much Merlot,

I know I got to get down to Melrose
before the Pacific Design Center closes.

Cold & Flu Season

It's been a long day
surrounded by damp kleenex and
the parrot's learned to call you "Atchoo."

Golden pollen floats outside, perhaps from the jacaranda
every poet seems to call "wisteria", a vine,
not a blooming tree, but yours is no mere allergy.

This time of year, rivulets of snot, sudden bursts
of histamine, and raspy breath no eucalyptus inhaler aids
replace thundering oceans of passion stirred by waves of desire, etc., etc.

Honey, I'd suck the pools of mucus from your sinuses
with a vacuum if that'd help, but I'm not angelically inclined.
A chaste kiss on the forehead will have to do you.


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