The Tea Always Gets Over, Such Is The Complain

Art by Henriette Ronner Knip

Sad souls seeking salvation: slowly sipping sips of saline tea - too much salt in the sea and their eyes; the sea floods, their eyes do not. To their rescue comes whiffs of smoke blown from cigarettes stuck between their coarse lips devoid of kisses; when they are not stuck between their lips, they are… Continue reading The Tea Always Gets Over, Such Is The Complain

The Fate of Her Cigarettes, and Me

Art by Nicole Eisenman

I had left a stack of typed poems at her house (more than 150, to be precise), she said she'd burn them all if I did not return to her. My exit was smooth - I had left her sleeping, naked, her heart well-clothed with my warm touches, and the blanket covering her body halfway… Continue reading The Fate of Her Cigarettes, and Me

Putting a Poet to Sleep

A poet sits with a jug full of wine - cheap wine - not the one which tastes like cough syrup, smells like nausea; but the wine which he's certain will slip him into tumbling oblivion after he fails to compose a poem. He pours a glassful of wine lights a cheap cigarette - not… Continue reading Putting a Poet to Sleep

Grace, Men, Women, Cats, Beer, and Cigarettes

Cats have grace; Men in brown leather jackets don't. They spend too much time zipping and unzipping, while the cigarette they hold between their fingers burn out, and the beer on their tables gets warm - warm beer is no good. Cats walk with grace; their tails hung up. I call them to me making… Continue reading Grace, Men, Women, Cats, Beer, and Cigarettes