That's Just My Smokin' Soul

Romanticized memories
jog ear to ear for days
then sink back into destiny

appropriated by syn-
apses and sunsets. Loathing
and fear of celluloid truth

and pixel love. Man's inner
resources are shish kabobbed;
burnt, stabbed and marinated to taste.

*from 1992 chapbook Bridging The Gender Gap.

Gotcha Covered

Cold sweat
and teeth-grinding chirp
awaken me.

The grizzly's gone now
not gnawing
on the arm anymore.

I wriggle my fingers
to see if they're
still there                      they are.

When I was a boy
I'd hide under the covers
from the monsters.

Mom said they couldn't
get me there.
I don't think she meant
to lie to me.
It's just that the monsters are bigger now.