by Donal Mahoney
Sometimes you sit for days
sucking yourself in
praying the right words
will fall in your ear
toboggan over the whorls
pierce the canal
and settle in your brain,
an embryonic delight.
Sometimes you sit for days
and finally the words come
and they're always a surprise
like the first tulip in April
or a sudden
orgasm for your wife.
November 15, 2009
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2009
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November
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- WHEN I GET HER LETTER
- Flowers are for Pansies
- These Nails Cause Me To Hesitate
- Fires Of The Night
- What Sign of Absence?
- I REMEMBER HAIFA BEING LOVELY BUT
- WAR
- advice to the newly divorced
- memorial day at the twisted parrot
- christmas
- ritual respect
- peach tree
- '61 was a hell of a year
- Black Maps
- On Relationships
- like yeats
- Booty Duty
- Before He Goes Bare
- IMAGINING HER
- reaction to the evening news
- The Jazz Musician
- Grounded
- THE CHOCOLATE COVERED STRAWBERRY
- THE DAMP KISSES WE WILL NOT HAVE
- TODAY I WANT TO SPIT GIGILO AT HIM
- LIKE GETTING THAT NOTE MONTHS AFTER
- Yellow Snow
- Ball-N-Chain
- First Tulip
- New Things
- The Art of Forgetting
- THE PHOTOGRAPHS, THE FILMY WHITE GAUZY CURTAINS
- The Hammer Gets Thrown Out Again
- The Real Me
- Conflict
- What I should have done
- NOT ONLY DID HE
- SUDDENLY IT’S WHAT I THINK OF
- All So Easy
- THE DREAM OF MY DEAD GRANDMOTHER’S HOUSE, THE STRA...
- THE TOO DARK TUNNEL OF A HALLWAY DREAM, DESPAIR, T...
- Brain Of Hitler
- One Day After Work
- The First Hooker (or Dead Eyes In Chicago)
- these last few weeks
- hungover
- AFTER TOO MANY NIGHTS DRUGGED
- “IN THE VIOLET HOUR” ON A PAGE, MAYBE IN A POETRY ...
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November
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