[Here's another poem by L.E. Leone for your viewing pleasure!]
Things That Aren't What They Are
The poem is empty and then
there are words
like
grrrandmama, autumn, and butt juice
Ah, the coffee is on
the drummer’s high hat this
is
only a matter of time, no?
Like, like, my ex-T-shirts and
currently clean panties
one
wonders why the laundry line gave
Two, three, four
Over and over, you
slice
little slices off my lip
Musician!
Maestro of the coffee-
sharp
play room carpet, I miss you
Can I say that? Can I
say this, that
um
you rock, your precision, your
Cannibal kiss, that my poem remains
empty, my mug half-full, a
peck
on my cheek, your pecker
Check that. The cheek is
where the best meat is, I’m told
over
and over, as ever I roll
repeat chorus
L.E. Leone
© 2010