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Showing posts from November, 2011

dubious luxury

you should stand out
from the crowd but
you gotta hold back
ju-u-st enough
pick your place and
your moment
otherwise folks'll be
and that diamond tiara
may as well be
a tin-foil hat
it's like i'm always sayin'
to my girl Frankie,
honey, don't matter
if you're wearing
the right red dress if
it's the wrong damn time
people can smell
from a mile away

Rene ~ November 2011

vodka girls

Little Boy Blue

you tickle me,
spin me 'round and
spoil me rotten
slipping into my purse
flickers of denim blue laughter

courting, grinning,
all the while
winking at danger
spin me once again

then wrap me 'round
your heart like a ribbon
what a treat you are
what a gift you've given

Rene ~ November 2011
Happy Thanksgiving

battenburg lace

there's no emptying my thoughts my words my endless, brilliant failed to-do's without carelessly spilling
a drop
or seven

battenburg lace
sunday afternoon
petal edged rivers run,
rise and gently stumble
over stones

and tied tongues
dripping dropping
polka dotting
splashing down

Rene ~ February/November 2011


After we'd loosed
that last thunderclap of the
summer, up on the old Erie Lackawanna tracks,
I swear we heard the Universe exhale:
"Thank God that's fucking over with."

Me and Brady walked back to town on the rails
strutting like dimestore peacocks
smoking Marlboros
and talking
like we knew about everything
and didn't give a shit about nothin'

So Brady asks me, "You scared about startin' high school?"
"Naw, I ain't scared"
"You lie, asshole"
" Brady, you smell like a bowl of assholes, better pray you stop before school starts"
"Yeah, and I know you better pray to the titty fairy before school starts"

Usually the shit that Brady said didn't bother me,
because we were always just kinda foolin'
and playin' around but,
I don't know.
That day it was weird.

And instead of punching him the arm,
I just got all quiet.
And so he was all quiet.
And that's the way we walked
all the way home



blood stains freckle
snow white linen
like rusted lace

i hide my face yet
i still hear the scrape
of sharp edged marbles

in your mouth
tumbling over scotch rocks
and little red last straws

nobody sees this
the more that doesn't
meet their eye

but break a leg
they've read the book
and smell the rat

the taste of bile once
on your lips, i know
this silences the barking dog

i wait, i pray you sleep
soon, soundly, sweetly
on soiled linen

as a broken spirit hides and
mends under the covers
of a library's worth of least read novels

Rene~November 2011
For d'verse ~ Poet's pub


I always end up at Gate of Heaven
after the pub, but before dinner
drownin' in liquid amnesia it's safer under the oaks
away from them and selfishly envious of
feckin' Able Moore.
Lucky bastard, dying like he did war hero, soldier, saint not a livin', sufferin' forgotten,
faceless sonofabitch
bummin' cigarettes from snot nosed brats at the Seven Eleven

Remember me? I didn't always run
and hide on the Fourth of July
pissin' myself in terror Tell me
Don't you goddamn remember me?

I don't feckin' care if you don't But oh my Jesus,
don't you forget to remember me, Able when I come into your kingdom
don't you dare, man
don't you goddamn dare

Rene ~ November 2011 Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is often suffered silently.
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