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hole in its back.

beast beast beast,

she kissed me,

what do you want for

breakfast?

the 6 foot goddess

I’m big

I suppose that’s why my women always seem

small

but this 6 foot goddess

who deals in real estate

and art

and flies from Texas

to see me

and I fly to Texas

to see her—

well, there’s plenty of her to

grab hold of

and I grab hold of it

of her,

I yank her head back by the hair,

I’m real macho,

I suck on her upper lip

her cunt

her soul

I mount her and tell her,

“I’m going to shoot white hot

juice into you. I didn’t fly all the

way to Galveston to play

chess.”

later we lay locked like human vines

my left arm under her pillow

my right arm over her side

I grip both of her hands,

and my chest

belly

balls

cock

tangle into her

and through us

in the dark

pass rays

back and forth

back and forth

until I fall away

and we sleep.

she’s wild

but kind

my 6 foot goddess

makes me laugh

the laughter of the mutilated

who still need

love,

and her blessed eyes

run deep into her head

like mountain springs

far in

and

cool and good.

she has saved me

from everything that is

not here.

I’ve seen too many glazed-eyed bums sitting under a bridge drinking cheap wine

you sit on the couch

with me

tonight

new woman.

have you seen the

animal-eater

documentaries?

they show death.

and now I wonder

which animal of

us will eat the

other first

physically and

last

spiritually?

we consume animals

and then one of us

consumes the other,

my love.

meanwhile

I’d prefer you go

first the first way

since if past performance

charts mean anything

I’ll surely go

first the last

way.

sexpot

“you know,” she said, “you were at

the bar so you didn’t see

but I danced with this guy.

we danced and we danced

close.

but I didn’t go home with him

because he knew I was with

you.”

“thanks a bunch,” I

said.

she was always thinking of sex.

she carried it around with her

like something in a paper

bag.

such energy.

she never forgot.

she stared at every man available

in morning cafes

over bacon and eggs

or later

over a noon sandwich or

a steak dinner.

“I’ve modeled myself after

Marilyn Monroe,” she told

me.

“she’s always running off

to some local disco to dance

with a baboon,” a friend once told

me, “I’m amazed that you’ve

stood for it as long as you have.”

she’d vanish at racetracks

then come back and say,

“three men offered to buy me

a drink.”

or I’d lose her in the parking

lot and I’d look up and she’d

be walking along with a strange man.

“well, he came from this direction

and I came from that and we

kind of walked together. I

didn’t want to hurt his

feelings.”

she said that I was a very

jealous man.

one day she just

fell down

inside of her sexual organs

and vanished.

it was like an alarm clock

dropping into the

Grand Canyon.

it banged and rattled and

rang and rang

but I could no longer

see or hear it.

I’m feeling much better

now.

I’ve taken up tap-dancing

and I wear a black felt

hat pulled down low

over my right

eye.

sweet music

it beats love because there aren’t any

wounds: in the morning

she turns on the radio, Brahms or Ives

or Stravinsky or Mozart. she boils the

eggs counting the seconds out loud: 56,

57, 58…she peels the eggs, brings

them to me in bed. after breakfast it’s

the same chair and listen to the classical

music. she’s on her first glass of

scotch and her third cigarette. I tell

her I must go to the racetrack. she’s

been here about 2 nights and 2 days. “when

will I see you again?” I ask. she

suggests that might be up to me. I

nod and Mozart plays.

numb your ass and your brain and your heart—

I was coming off an affair that had gone badly.

frankly, I was sliding down into a pit

really feeling shitty and low

when I lucked into this lady with a large bed

covered with a jeweled canopy

plus

wine, champagne, smokes, pills and

color tv.

we stayed in bed and

drank wine, champagne, smoked, popped pills

by the dozens

as I (feeling shitty and low)