Thanks for the Memories

nemesis chick you left
the scene and me here, holding
my prick, wondering whether
there is a point to this romance
even today? nemesis chick
you led me around by the cock
for so many years, yet we were
friends and we were always
disturbed and we both always
knew there was something there
that would not let this dissipate
into the flat air of the 90s

so, despite her long sweet golden
hair, halfway down her back,
and her thin cruel lips, her snake-like
persona practiced and corrupted in
the american west. Despite these
hard breasts in my hands and her
desperate tongue, whispering
alien speech in my mouth, fighting
off the need to fuck and be fucked
she always had that husband
in the background. I always had
first Pat, then Kelly, and later
Becky B. She had her engineer,
carefully husbanded his rugby
playing rage, that singularity that
might destroy either her or me
at anytime. She had her family,
irish catholic cynics capable of that
painful humor that mocks the dead.
She married her john on
kennedy's death day, 11/22,
so as to always remember the date
I was there...sunrise sunset
the sacred hearters in the balcony
were weaving a cloth no one would wear
that day. She could polka a mean
polka. She could twist her body
against you in ways that seemed
to defy the normal lust. I have
a hundred of her poems. Words
shared. We often went, the two of
us, to Jane's house and listened
to her song. And later, with Steven
A.D. we traveled the bars
getting drunk and trolling
Knoepfle's psyche for fun and
a great excuse to be together.

Nemesis chick. She destroyed me.
There is only this dreadful silk balloon
lying flat on the ground waiting for
some sort of reason to bring me up
again into those clouds. What do
I think about her these days? Sometimes
hatred, murder, violence, sadness.
Other times I tell myself she didn't
mean it, all my fault. Stupid male.
Other times there is just tragedy
and loss. Frequent bouts of a particular
kind of despair. She escaped, though.

Gone to Las Vegas.
Disappeared, law degree in hand.
Corlyss said she heard she was at
Bill Crook's house last week.
Well, everyone passes through
Bill Crook's house, eventually.
Don't they?

Would I cut her throat today?
Maybe. She said she loved me. But
it was just a trick. She took my
words and now I am standing
on the edge of the abyss,
the balloon ripped and dirty,
promising nothing but destruction
We all circle down this spiral
gravity sucks our moral character
into an elongated balloon,
devoid of meaning.
It means nothing. Just
ordinary defeat and loss.