“Upstairs Elk”

There’s an elk living upstairs.
I can tell by the lumbering.
Hard-crusted hooves
crash against the straining floor,
drunk, ungainly; 
I’m sure his thighs —
they ripple with fat-stores
as he smashes from room to room,
not sure why he’s there.

Still…

when he makes love,
grunts around each night
mounts the elk-lette,
even his strange body
fades into power

and little elks.

More lumbering? Click here.

Drinks

I studied the bar for possible moods — 
what was the one I felt yesterday,
right after the Manhattan?
Was that CareFreeMelancholy?
or CitySad
mixed with WindSweptLoneliness?
WoeIsMe?

No. Wait.

I sent that 
first one back, 
got a TallBud
and rode AwesomeConvo
and his wingman,
BroLove
into the land of 
FuckAin’tItSolid!

Or was that
the AMF?

More moods? Click here.

“Better”

“You want me to stay?”

The beginning
that unfolds to an end
I won’t like.

Kill that tale now, 
before it becomes our story.

“No. But thank you.”

“Really?” he says,
eyebrows newly engaged,
the way they rose before,
before this had to mean.

“Yes.”

Then he kissed my hand
like a man does a magistrate.
Got dressed fast —
maybe I’d change my mind.
One last glance back

as we began 
better.

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