Why Are You Reading This Poem Anyway?

You could bluely smile 
At the end of a very long story

Maybe meanwhile back in Reno

Hating yourself for writing prose

You could think you’re wonderful

And so does everyone else

How orphic

You could be like Cleopatra

Of the bitten breast and the rare mind

See your face reflected in a dirty windshield

It doesn’t matter don’t

You see?

You hate pretense but you

Really love the way I lie

Across your pillows

Your blue eyes are blinking

On and off

And yet and yet

You rarely tell me what

Terribly sexy décolleté they see