———

No Razzmatazz in this Potion (Just some Repeated Bourbon)

Her winter skirt resembled a Matisse paint-by-number.

She met me just to deny me:

Her skin shivered and I handed her my jacket.

Looking at her I was joyfully beholden,

like praise be,

to the knowledge that I didn’t have to compete with Lorca anymore.

Having nothing complete

I find yet another hobby

to take my mind off her lesson plan.

Another failed academic finding solace in little words

hands that lilt

and wilting institutions

poised for failure by steamy devolution.

Longing is over

like another casual affair

and she conjures up an ultimatum

from the lines she knows:

“finish the book before we meet for coffee,

“and if I like what I read…”

There will always be a bill for services rendered

and a rebellious strut for wasted dreamers.

Until then

Shave your head and get ready for oblivion

Because the air will continue getting thin

Until she’s reimagined and just lonely enough.

From then

Hang from the dream like a razor strop

Waiting to be utilized in some jumbled verses

that are born from corroding anamnesis:

the booze has worn away the past

to make it fit for lyrics.

———–