Catchy
Wear cotton masks where’er you go stay miles away from strangers Wash hands til they turn cracked and red Report scofflaws to rangers Raid grocers shelves at 6 am make shopping trips a caper Buy bread and milk and tuna […]
Catchy
By Anthony C. Hayes
Wear cotton masks where’er you go stay miles away from strangers Wash hands til they turn cracked and red Report scofflaws to rangers Raid grocers shelves at 6 am make shopping trips a caper Buy bread and milk and tuna […]
I Think She’s Hot
If I wanted to meet someone beautiful, right away, I’d think she’s hot. If I wanted to meet someone sensual, right away, I’d think she’s hot. If I wanted to meet someone spiritual, right away, I’d
On Six Inch Heels
She struts the stage, coyly, of the Cold Chrome Club, somehow balanced on high six inch heels. Lithely wrapping her limbs ‘round a stainless steel pole, titillating whoever she feels. It’s a busy
Done With Bukowski
I’m done with Bukowski. Done with the stale cigar smoke and bar napkin sonnets. Done with the man ~ with the rueful pronouncements poured out like yesterdays brew. Done. And why not? My exes have all
He Haunts Me Still
Shallow, the blow of a harbor breeze morn arrives with the autumn air Shallow, the breath of a tortured soul sunlight dies on a mortal fair Simple, the heart of a lowly child pennies poured will mark his plaque Simple, the
Death in Hampden
I want to be impaled on a pink flamingo laid out on John Waters lawn. I want to see cat eye glasses mist up while Kix plays the Colts marching song. I want to hear tributes in Roosevelt
Mare Crisium
Tomorrow was yesterday – the day imagination took flight; the day my sneakers touched the dust of that distant world. A sphere in the night, chalky white, I followed its rise and fall; the till of my telescope set upon the Tranquil Sea. With every
Miss Cyclone’s Last Ride
(The days of the nickel dates are long gone but the memories do endure for a pretty young girl of Italian descent and her stays on this storied shore.) Stepping first into the
Mae West on MySpace
I can almost hear her voice beckoning to, “Come up and see me sometime” Sequins shine, hugging curves which went out of fashion, back when coffee still cost a dime. Her profile reads like a back room novel; her
A Party of One
Strange. It seems the rims don’t seal quite as well as she remembers. And the colors; the greens and yellows have given way to cold casts of cobalt and white. Strange. To be a wife