Lingerie

3:35 is the worst hour.
Everyone I know is asleep
or fucking;
they can't be making love,
not at this time.
Mishkin preaches Dostoyevski's dogma,
but only for a little while;
I'm not fond of idiots.
I'm not able to muster enthusiasm
for someone's ideas on how I should live my life,
you know that.
You know almost everything
except that you don't know much at all,
with your cigarette tongue,
your cotton candy apologies,
and your Victoria Secret pussy.

Most Likely You Go Your Way

I blink,
painful discomfort
caused by sitting too close
to the highway,
white lines
drowning
in an onyx sea.
We drive,
windows open,
cigarette dangling from his lips,
unlit.
The black Camaro,
undetectable shadow
on route 66.
Only Dylan,
blasting from our speakers,
gives us away.
Photographs on the dashboard
stained with coffee,
credit cards maxed out.
We’re discovering America;
documenting it for posterity.

Spring Chores

This carpet needs a thorough cleaning.
It ranks first on a list of things
I've yet to do.
I always find another reason to stay in bed;
to put off that shower another day.
Just five more minutes and I'll tune my guitar.
Five more minutes and I'll go for that jog.
Sandy can wait to be walked
five more minutes.
I don't see the point in sex tonight
when I can masturbate tomorrow.