A Love Poem for Angry Romantics

¡Hola!  Everybody... 

I've made some esthetic changes to my blog in preparation for a flood of raging political articles/ (new) stories/ rants/ and the rest of the catastrophe. LOL I'm hoping to make the blog much more interactive and, seeing as I'm now basically "self-employed" (really: unemployed), perhaps add some (social purpose) ads. 

I'm also considering taking the leap and committing the next year toward completing at least one of my two works in progress (and doing a "Raskalnikov"). I might not be able to pay the rent, but maybe I can crank out a book. Stay tuned as you will be subjected to the dynamics of this adventure! LOL 

Today is Saturday and it's all about the arts... 

* * *

Nows [No. 26]

A quarter to eleven 

East Village.

We are sitting like a sandwich

at a tiny table.

A sunny afternoon spent

groping out-of-town strollers,

and the light touch of

our thighs sends back

"Oh yeahs," "Wows,"

and "Look-at-thats."

It is a flirtatious appraisal

meant only to be

the very gentlest of rapes.

So we sit,

separate but in touch,

letting the silences 

that pass between us

serve as unasked-for approvals

of our mutual window-shopping,

our fleeting joyful adulteries.

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