Sincerely, & as real as blonde hair
on beautiful southern California mothers-
sex goddesses comfortable with children.
It's as painless as a thumb gashed open:
red puppet strings of muscle inside.
It's as serious as cancer; as hot as a dog
in heat; as wet as a toilet's constant puddle
of piss. It promises to satiate hunger
as boxes do in grocery stores- pretty
pictures of fake food made by nobodies.
It's as wonderful as a bright sun-shining day
and the songs of energy and madness the tv
and radio play, melodies flowing through
cities full of innocent bystanders while they
meander through days paved into roads,
hospitals, hamburger joints, one-stop
photo shops ( to purchase evidence),
behind saloon-like doors of the video place
into you-know-where just to look at the covers,
then to go back home to devise a meal, some
comfort, maybe a little music, a cup of tea,
the release of sleep. It's as simple as pie,
as red as a liar's tongue, as raw as a bowl
of peeled onions. It's a sudden as a hand
waving hi, a kiss in the elevator, a phone call
as an obituary's proof, as thunder, an early
evening's falling star, or any letter signed
Love,
[+]
Phillip has work in or forthcoming in Connecticut Review,
Basalt, Santa Fe Literary Review, New American
Writing, Poetry Salzburg Review and has appeared in
Best American Poetry. His book, Rues, was recently
published by Blue Light Press of San Francisco, and his collection of
fiction, Now Leaving Nowheresville and book length essay
Nearest Istanbul are forthcoming.
