I Get Hard


just thinking about her
2 states away
in love with someone else

no matter how hot it gets
it’s the end of summer
no matter

the ceiling fan lethargic
while somewhere
dark, deep, brooding,
esoteric

an earthquake considers
rebirth



The Critique


We were on a bus
Crushed in there with the foreign tourists
Cruising west on Santa Monica Blvd
Hurtling through Beverly Hills through
The wooded area where the tourists
Were using their phones to take
Pictures of the Beverly Hills sign
I noticed a number of rather vulgar sculptures
I turned to her and said
Look at all that trash disguised as art
These rich motherfuckers have no taste
And she turned to me and said
What are you talking about
There’s all kinds of perfect sculptures
She waved her hand at the window vaguely
Look at them all, can’t you see?
She had this glassy look in her eyes
She was talking about the trees
I looked out at the trees whooshing by
I looked at her with her glazed eyes
And I thought How do I always end up
With hippie girlfriends?