television poetry it's killing me

the inconsolable self the drinks
don't cause the crying is an end
in itself and the beautiful baby put
your arm around her she'll crouch
down you drink your water
from a glass shaped like a wine
glass

too repetitive (?)

what liquor
store can you go to can you buy
on a sunday no thankyou
no tuna we're italian money
gangsters literally
she's texting me and they watch
some game talking bloodshed
no war now war warning
bloodshed for this man
with a tv tray knows dead men
eats potatoes ExtenZe.








italian the language and men
handing women objects and yelling
at other men the slicked back hair
the mustaches but it's so much more
than that revenge michael anything what
can i do
settle these troubles
i don't understand
but you do you do you do you
probably do and it's just
you don't want to
these people (us, we) they never
want to, unless
let's hit 'em all

the name frankie
various childhood memories
ominous happiness, family heirloom
of a home like my lampshade (no
not that connection) and that phrase
we know (i know) i think you know. keep
your friends close and your enemies
closer. i want him completely relaxed
and confident in our friendship. then
i'll be able to find out
who the traitor in our family
[was]