Believe it or not,
I’m single.
And have I got an Odditorium
for you.
Admission is free
for men
with hairy chests
who, in deep
resonant
timbres,
patiently offer directions
“to Ground Zero”
to groups of fanny-packed tourist ladies.
My god,
you’re so hot you’re giving the heat pit stains.
That Odditorium? It’s my apartment.
Step right up!
After a glass or two of wine
I do a somber and piercing
“Hello, Young Lovers” in my living room,
self-accompanied on the keyboard.
My roomate’s in China on a trip,
so reprises are limitless and don’t need to be
textually-founded.
Step right up!
Last night I ate a pound of grapes,
and this morning
things were
not
right
with me.
Tonight I ate the same amount
because in addition to organized religion
I also mistrust food portioning.
Step right up!
to the biggest oddity of all
in my apartment:
your absence from it.
My empty bed,
what a freak.
.. i feel dirty..
These poems need to be accompanied by discretely taken camera phone shots of the yearned for lovelies.
how are you going to attract love if you put out into the world that you get digestive problems from a pound of grapes? be discrete. say 1/4lb next time. it would at least make your portions seem demure, if you, yourself, are not.
I loved visualizing the “Hello, Young Lovers” part. Thank you.