A Second Chance

Full dick or get the fuck out.

He stared at the screen and absorbed Rita’s message, the acknowledgment of his cop-out deflating Roger’s confidence faster than the flushed, un-full dick that was still drooped sadly across his knuckles like an ulcer-prone salamander.

Drawing the blue alien thing/palm tree over it in the photo he’d sent her had been a stupid gamble, stupid enough for her to forgo an acronym and use proper punctuation in her response. He’d remembered her telling him about how she, before sending a pic, would sometimes doodle Pac-Man ghosts skirting across her cleavage, how she and her friends would turn their nipples into cute rabbit noses or penguin eyes or a “titmouse,” her favorite pun.

When he couldn’t find adequately flattering lighting in his bedroom or seated on the toilet, when he’d only managed to achieve the thin-blooded hard-on of a gun-shy high schooler, when he’d found it impossible, given the length of his arm, to get a proper dick selfie angle that wasn’t an anatomy-book close-up but didn’t provide too much unnecessary perspective, he’d decided to compromise. Life was compromise. A breast partially obscured by a stick-figure rendition of a woodland creature was still a breast. He could live with that.

He’d positioned himself at his computer desk, scrolled through a few of Rita’s newer college-age Facebook photos, worked himself to a state of slightly less embarrassing semi-stiffness, gripped the base, extended his phone-wielding arm and snapped. The image had been fuzzy, the lack of contrast between skin and white tee making for an indefinite, less than enthusiastic representation of an appendage that had been deemed above average – either tacitly or explicitly – by roughly half of those who’d seen it in its engorged majesty.

He’d used the app’s drawing tool to make a cobalt blue outline around the vital area, liberally expanding its parameters, then shading it in. He’d added green palm leaves or antennae on top of the head, and two eyes or coconuts about halfway down the shaft. Not bad, he’d thought. Whimsical even.

But there would be no reciprocation.

Doesn’t count since I can’t even see it.

are you racist against blue dicks?

No. a little. come on roger. Full dick or get the fuck out.

fine, fine.

Roger listened for noises beyond his locked door, hoping one of his roommates might need to borrow his laundry detergent or ask why the bottle of Lubriderm was missing from the bathroom. He glanced out his curtain-less window to see if any of the ambiguously Asian? guys doing construction on the (much shorter) adjacent building were having one of their frequent smoke breaks-slash-gawking sessions but the rooftop was empty except for a pair of plastic bags doing battle in the breeze. He remembered a movie from a while back where a weird dude filmed a similar scene and later told his equally weird girlfriend that it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever witnessed. To Roger, the twirling sacks reminded him of a vague sadness he couldn’t quite place, of hiding from something under the guise of total freedom.

More importantly, he had no excuses for Rita, whose ubiquitous emoticons had gone from tongue-flicking and joyous to now something that looked like a crying/barfing zombie.

Roger took a breath, removed his boxers for a second time. 

29@29: Albums

The Rentals // Return of the Rentals

Weezer // The Blue Album

Wu-Tang Clan // Enter the 36 Chambers

Atmosphere // God Loves Ugly

Cake // Fashion Nugget

Hum // Downward is Heavenward

Silver Jews // American Water

Diarrhea Planet // Loose Jewels

Weezer // Pinkerton

Styles P // A Gangster and a Gentleman

Stars // Set Yourself on Fire

New Radicals // Maybe You’ve Been Brainwashed Too

Billy Joel // Songs in the Attic

Perpetual Groove // Sweet Oblivious Antidote

The Flaming Lips // Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots

The Flaming Lips // The Soft Bulletin

The Smashing Pumpkins // Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness

Talking Heads // Stop Making Sense

David Bowie // The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars

Big L // The Big Picture

Michael Franti & Spearhead // Stay Human

Elton John // Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

Simple Kid // 1

Smog // Dongs of Sevotion

The Presidents of the United States of America // The Presidents of the United States of America

Blink-182 // The Mark, Tom and Travis Show

Grateful Dead // What a Long Strange Trip It’s Been

Alanis Morrisette // Jagged Little Pill

311 // 311

Famotidine

Ulcered and heaved,

your snap

out of it

snapped from the corners

bolts and sheets

and light of undone

white,

your angel forced

to pretend

what life might have

and somewhere

all your victims

and a plastic assailant

lurk.

Nothing defined,

the fog rolls out.

Silence

and windstorms

and emptiness blare

and throughout the albino prism

you find only

sawdusted anecdotes --

[You may have

any of the following:

Fruit juices (apple and grape

are good).

Clear soups or broth.

Clear gelatin.

Popsicles.

Avoid:

Alcohol.

Caffeinated drinks.

Dairy products.

Meat.

Other fatty foods.

Vitamins should be used

vitamins should be

started right away

you should be on

this diet

for a very short time

only when your

doctor

tells you to.]

Brittle over the

futon’s armrest

another brief, gentle

explosion

vague curses screeched

softer than

the sound

a decade sometimes

makes,

inclined to

the pale glaze

over your apartment’s

swallowing,

the last lonely chunk

of gut dissolves.

Take a glass, sip

sink your fear

neglect

your granular identity

your business

of dying

amounting to nothing.

Serve your greed

the gristled

shards of warm moon

burning above

the beautiful faithless

villages

your last winter

branch

ready to be

bludgeoned.

When it breaks

you will

grow

new limbs,

better than new. 

Juvederm

Soft folds

injectable

you still crave

the feeling

of being

            squandered,

your body suffocated

by another,

weighed down.

Her lips, in return

seem to be

examining

your mouth.

penetrated, embered

you journey deep

into the

sacred eras

of her obscene city

built on tendons

the folds

            of mammals

stretched, your insides

warmed

by a flask.

Cigarette, mirage

            of oasis

           

cigarette

a predictable wink

of certain

depature.

the alteration ends

complete and unprofitable

(you could have

guessed). A collagen

smile never

puts its heart

into it. 

Salvia

The machinery of clouds

your throat

like a warp

in the tincture

no schedule

for this rasping

train.

Amethyst in

vertical light

music

scattering pollen

the pillage carrying

you

from insatiable gravity

to primal marrow.

Black cattle,

deadlocked fog,

learn to eat

walk

read

void your

hungry matrix,

enter into dialogue

with your changing

passage

of water

ask nothing

offer only what

you take.

Let your presence

burn

your fear away.

Now, turn off:

split belly,

            legs stiff suggesting

            prosthesis

autumn crust

over buzzard sidewalks.

Strange return.

You are yours

only

when not

yourself.

Ibuprofen

Recapture last night’s

pointless victory,

mouth full of mould.

You slumbered already

in the furrows,

typing out

your reliance. Rediscovered:

the taste of oil

and cinder

that storm-blinded

focusing on

your pupil,

knees knocked.

The lawn,

with its print

of your passage

livers posthumously.

Head in light

and in

the gut,

stones.

Your bathroom’s limit

is reconciliation. 

Robitussin

Slipped in the slum

of your silence

heavy, fever

breaths

hot and muggy summer

your quiet

thickens

retching under

the speakers’ roar.

You crouch devout,

without motion,

on a small

wooden barstool

that can be

folded up

at night

like sweating hands

shivered and fixed

in phone-lit

prayer.

Outside, dangling

free, disproportionate

heads

suckle the mirror.

Your habit wholly

covered

your licked fingers

here seem puzzling artifacts

frozen in

a younger suburb,

straight ahead

straight through

the turbulence that

floods your

kaleidoscoped skull

reminders of something

there out far

something there out deep.

Commutered sweat

Jams through the

TV glow

clots

the revolving doors

in a hurry

to get home,

and yet she sits

next to you –

patient, calm

entrusted to belief

and appletinis,

rigor mortised

in her stare.

A milky torrent

floods

both sides

of her

as if she’s a tiny

clump of

rose-colored island

forcing its head above

the swell

a river’s perfect scar.

You feel the current

pressing you

to one side

then the other

and quickly you tuck

your fingers

beneath your arm

search your pockets

for empty plastic,

while still

the current presses.

She twists

and turns

and pulls at

your wrist.

But you

have no extra smile. 

THC

The perfect inhalation

as the sound of

a basketball

carries itself

beyond the trees

without excuse

rising straight in place

a deep green.

You take this

with one eye,

then two

like the temptation

bouncing

you out

onto the concourse

with no ball but

the eye

roaming an uneasy breeze

the grass unsure.

You convince yourself,

held

to the earth,

that pigeons

are only creatures

with no

names.

Exhale. Come

out to

the court where

the boy and his ball

need nothing

no names

no sounds

no need to ask

the grass

anything

as if in green

there is something

other than green

growing

from the branches

of the city-sick trees

something other than bark

and seeds.

Unsure of foot

on this

terrain,

bristled around

the roots

entwined below,

grasping its slope

there’s nothing in green

that doesn’t

open your eyes.

In the darkest

unfinished basement

of your thought

there is an

open window of sunlight

for you

if you walk with green

if you lie down with green

at every move

await green

at every pause

you hum the words

your smoke will print

in air.

If in any doubt

you lose your way

you find your lips

on green. 

Nitrous Oxide

Spin the anesthetic 
quicksilver
it hums
all of the verses
reveals
the wide, black
theater of stars
in their jeweled 
carcasses, 
turning until 
your globe slows
and galaxies
fade
back into 
the gauzelike 
fabric. Then 
spin it again. 
And again. 

Viagra

Hips strangle face,

hips

strangle

face

dissolving

the walls

to repel mountains

in sun.

A hint of brine

a wink

of ocean

you and every

middle-aged

commercial fucker

on a beach

in the tub

but you know,

twitching

from memories

of forced heat,

the new limb

is only good

in the hands of those

who do not

need it.

Have your

vacation.

Fill it up.

In shuddering waves

render the whole man

your great shivering

mass

upon the world.

Your machine

has fixed gears

and cannot

wear out

cannot

wear

out

until the dying

open-mouthed

moment

when the cowboy

conspiracy

is made complete,

poisoned

by the premises

it fed on,

frightened by the appearance

of its end,

dangling by a

thin opaque strand:

another mess you’ll never

clean

but always hard

and warm

and loving.