SPAM

The Tomato Giant...
What the fuck is that?
These ads are becoming too abstract,
a tomato isn't even in the shape of a penis.

A dinner for two without reservations

Sometimes I feel like ceviche isn't actually cooked,
like, how do I know that the citrus acids
had enough time to prepare the fish
so it isn't raw?

Then again I know the water in my fish tank
has a good pH because the fish are still swimming
and waiting for me to feed them,

I see my reflection in them,
grey cast eyes looking through glass,
unable to see through that glass,
out into an alien world of careless giants,
marching across suffocating carpeted valleys
towards soft leather mountains,
unknowingly contemplating their end
with every moist flake ingested,
turning in constantly shrinking circles
until they cease to exist or give up living--

on
the other side of the glass
of course,

Once again though,
I'm reminded,
I still haven't answered that ceviche question.

Bob Costas Valentine

Huddled around blue pulsing light,
radiating without warmth,
are skating pairs,

flamboyant clothes accompany
zero missed calls and jumbled silence,
I'm alone,

There is chocolate somewhere
(though I'm allergic)
and the passing scent of melting wax
weighted down by burning wick,
carefully sculpted, adoringly prepared,
these tables across which lovers stare,
are empty but for my glass, coaster-less
and also alone,

a charming reflection of Olympic feats
looped and replayed.

SNOW

I haven't abandoned you,

a bitter winter, and I'm
Knee deep in a misplaced tundra,
snowflakes gnaw at my fingers,
the coarse wood and cold metal
of an old shovel, it's true
we've all seen better days,

But when were they?--

you remember? and I--?
I won't forget you
when the snow melts
the streets are dry
and the squirrels come out of hiding.

Is this the end of the postmodern hero?

Is this the end of the postmodern hero?

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