Stein's Insects
Lately I don't have a point;
Worse yet, I'm stubborn about it,
Arms waving;
You exacto-knife all my words
And thrust a guitar I cannot play into my hands;
How my mind slides around
Call me a poet by slapping my poem on the wall;
I feel as if you had pulled my pants down
Just like that, your solution in Scotch tape;
Of course you know I like it
Lately I tend to think that Bowie sed it best:
"Terrifies me—makes me party…"
The thing between us is dying, or dead;
I feel a mix of horror and fascination,
Lover as scientist
I'm afraid of you,
How easily you part the curtains;
What you see
March 2005