Sunday, January 6, 2008

Orson and Edna epistolary poems

With Love, Your Raisin Muffin

Those years since then
when you smiled
down across your flat
brown nickel-nipples and
into me, when we broke
our fast with love-sausage and salt-muffin,

Have dreamt me imageless:
her in your mirror-eyes
when I look for me.
I am a steak of you that
offends your vegan.

I am a raisin of who
I was when I teased your
nickels warm, and you
trusted my safe
with your roll,
our mutual fund,
our fidelity.



Dear Raisin Muffin, It's Not My Fault


You know I love you,
simpering twit!
We swung once, remember?
I said I would love you,
we could fuck them.
I still love you, fuck them.

You're what's changed,
muffin. My two dollars is
still invested.
But I don't get my apples-peach-pear return.
You guard them love.
You stopped letting me see.

So I stopped eating meat!
You stopped cooking.
Stopped serving.
Stopped being.
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