HEMORRHAGING

I have a Thursday morning coffee poem inside me
it runs into my sloth and sloshes around for awhile getting nowhere
icky issues of abortion and gay marriage blending in
as it scorches everything on its way to the bladder

and here I sit in my Joe Stalin cap eyes circling the globe
master of tin cans and irises
waiting for Joan Mitchell canvasses to come swirling out of my pen
will I bloom or vomit

it is best to sit close to a sink
sink along with me I’m on my way to a bar
my early days were filled with Perry Como and tennis balls
and I have yet to be transported by a limousine

oh Sid oh Imogene alas I knew ye well
as my precision cuckoo clock winds down
the bird hanging out of its house
like a lure for laughter

did king Camels kill my papa
I almost married a girl named LaSalle last night
I was plucked from that ocean by the alarm clock
and now it’s raining on all the scars

here comes Art selling his Cabernets
religion in its lingerie governmental glibness
bumble bees all swallowed up by the petals
just you wait till I finish fondling my capital X