Surinam
Nam hit the factory like a payload of napalm
setting libidos aflame and scorching
the jungle of conflicted marriages
with the incendiary heat
of sexual fantasy.
Nam emerged from the office citadel,
the clean lineoleum oasis
populated with computers and polo shirts
where men with machine grease on their hands
were disavowed and unallowed inside.
Nam collected paperwork from the shop floor
her hair black as the smoke of burning tires
denim tight as a falcon's hood
eyes alive with the hope of rescue
as she moved with the speed of shadow.
Nam fell in love with a working man
his sinewy arms leopard spotted with chrome
ambivalent eyes always distrustful
entering a battle of wills
with no measure of victory available.
Nam destroys every man eventually
succumbing to sexual battery
emotional confusion, financial chaos
an armageddon of broken promises
the best time of their lives.
dishrag pathos
only a poet can make
death seem poetic
only a bad poet
can transform
a dead internet mistress
into an immortal muse
wringing
dishrag pathos
from dirty cyber laundry
awaiting
applause
from lonely facebook identities
and Skype pussy
whispering
second hand platitudes
from the maw of obscurity
he claims originality
offering only
superficial nullity
skindeep nihilism
and
unintentional
parody
his mouth is
a bukkake
of better writers'
poetic ejaculations
he wipes his lips
on the small press
dishrag
and demands
you call it
genuis
