of Ms. Gina from the seventh veil...
these women, designed to allude and confound,
you tell them what they want to hear,
because they tell us nothing;
you see them as they really are,
and yet they still write poems for others
while giving me the clap.
leave the door open,
I want to listen to the LA traffic,
can't speak my mind
so I write these instead.
Green diner jello at 4am,
and of course the waitress is gorgeous;
this is Hollywood.
my pinky nail is painted cherry red
to match all her fingers,
and the mail is painted east
for a beast on 27th street.
sometimes while writing a poem,
I stop and consider
giving it a happy ending;
makes me feel good.