Love is a Dog from Hell (2 page)

 

is the slim tall

ear-ringed

bedroom damsel

dressed in a long

gown

 

she’s always high

in heels

spirit

pills

booze

 

Sandra leans out of

her chair

leans

toward

Glendale

 

I wait for her head

to hit the closet

doorknob

as she attempts to

light

a new cigarette on an

almost burnt-out

one

 

at 32 she likes

young neat

unscratched boys

with faces like the bottoms

of new saucers

 

she has proclaimed as much

to me

has brought her prizes

over for me to view:

silent blonde zeros of young

flesh

who

a) sit

b) stand

c) talk

at her command

 

sometimes she brings one

sometimes two

sometimes three

for me to

view

 

Sandra looks very good in

long gowns

Sandra could probably break

a man’s heart

 

I hope she finds

one.

 

you’re a beast, she said

your big white belly

and those hairy feet.

you never cut your nails

and you have fat hands

paws like a cat

your bright red nose

and the biggest balls

I’ve ever seen.

you shoot sperm like a

whale shoots water out of the

hole in its back.

 

beast beast beast,

she kissed me,

what do you want for

breakfast?

 

I’m big

I suppose that’s why my women always seem

small

but this 6 foot goddess

who deals in real estate

and art

and flies from Texas

to see me

and I fly to Texas

to see her—

well, there’s plenty of her to

grab hold of

and I grab hold of it

of her,

I yank her head back by the hair,

I’m real macho,

I suck on her upper lip

her cunt

her soul

I mount her and tell her,

“I’m going to shoot white hot

juice into you. I didn’t fly all the

way to Galveston to play

chess.”

 

later we lay locked like human vines

my left arm under her pillow

my right arm over her side

I grip both of her hands,

and my chest

belly

balls

cock

tangle into her

and through us

in the dark

pass rays

back and forth

back and forth

until I fall away

and we sleep.

 

she’s wild

but kind

my 6 foot goddess

makes me laugh

the laughter of the mutilated

who still need

love,

and her blessed eyes

run deep into her head

like mountain springs

far in

and

cool and good.

 

she has saved me

from everything that is

not here.

 

you sit on the couch

with me

tonight

new woman.

 

have you seen the

animal-eater

documentaries?

 

they show death.

 

and now I wonder

which animal of

us will eat the

other first

physically and

last

spiritually?

 

we consume animals

and then one of us

consumes the other,

my love.

 

meanwhile

I’d prefer you go

first the first way

 

since if past performance

charts mean anything

I’ll surely go

first the last

way.

 

“you know,” she said, “you were at

the bar so you didn’t see

but I danced with this guy.

we danced and we danced

close.

but I didn’t go home with him

because he knew I was with

you.”

 

“thanks a bunch,” I

said.

 

she was always thinking of sex.

she carried it around with her

like something in a paper

bag.

such energy.

she never forgot.

she stared at every man available

in morning cafes

over bacon and eggs

or later

over a noon sandwich or

a steak dinner.

 

“I’ve modeled myself after

Marilyn Monroe,” she told

me.

 

“she’s always running off

to some local disco to dance

with a baboon,” a friend once told

me, “I’m amazed that you’ve

stood for it as long as you have.”

she’d vanish at racetracks

then come back and say,

“three men offered to buy me

a drink.”

 

or I’d lose her in the parking

lot and I’d look up and she’d

be walking along with a strange man.

“well, he came from this direction

and I came from that and we

kind of walked together. I

didn’t want to hurt his

feelings.”

 

she said that I was a very

jealous man.

 

one day she just

fell down

inside of her sexual organs

and vanished.

 

it was like an alarm clock

dropping into the

Grand Canyon.

it banged and rattled and

rang and rang

but I could no longer

see or hear it.

 

I’m feeling much better

now.

I’ve taken up tap-dancing

and I wear a black felt

hat pulled down low

over my right

eye.