USA

dreamboogie@yahoo.com 

Urban Legends

They say full moons don't affect people,
that hospital ER's are in fact
not deluged with visitors,
that psychiatrists' offices aren't inundated with
calls
that the streets aren't full of stressed-out people
cursing cuz someone
rudely stepped on their shadows.
"Just an Urban Legend," they dismiss.
"They" apparently live in the suburbs, who
hide their insecurities behind security fences &
	immaculately-clipped lawns, the same
type that insists
there's no unemployment
no sane people among the homeless
and who produce tv programs implying there are 
no middle class residents in Oakland or Newark or 
Hartford or St. Louis.

The urban legends are miniscule next to
the suburban myths
that their kids aren't strung out on heroin
that their daughters
don't leave unwanted babies in dumpsters
that the real reason
switchboards explode in fireworks of buzzers &
	blinking lights
is that all their bored housewives
having affairs with Prince Valium
are once again begging for their aluminum hats.

© 2000 The Poet Formerly Known As Mark States

Skim the Excess

If I was a music star I'd be dead
by now
cuz I love livin' to excess
or even worse
be on some VH1 program with hair
	chopped down to next to nothing
confessing the sins of fame & hopping
on the comeback trail.
It's much better here, payin' dues
without organization or representation just
lovin' livin' and
sharing every moment of it

	excess & reflection
	action & interpretation.

Yeah maybe one day I'll make it
be a poetry star
with a legion of groupies at bookstores to
choose from
for subject & plot of the next hit piece
exclusively shown
on the Poetry Video Network,
getting paid for what I say.
Till then I skim
the excess into inkwells for
later withdrawal.

© 1999 The Poet Formerly Known As Mark States

A Fractured Sky

You don't listen to me any more
it's like
	these tears are ice
and all you wanna sip is coffee.
I tell ya
I need a little attention to detail
	nothin' happens
but me watchin'
you
givin' someone else the cream
	of their pie in the sky desires.

I need to feel wanted again
I need less wall more floor

I try to carry
	my end of the weight
you drop yours to tell me
	to stop pushin'
when
I need you
to value my contribution
	I ache
	I howl under moon with its
	back turned

cuz you don't listen to me anymore
it's like
my needs are static
on a radio
you toss out of a speeding car
it's like
	a fractured sky
and home is on the other side of the
break.

© 2000 The Poet Formerly Known As Mark States

Want to Watch

The dewdrops of hot moans
hang from roses' petals
like spectators over railings
they want to watch
hand over leg
tongue over flesh
dewdropping breath
makes you wanna holler
another round of hallelujahs
this ain't no game of craps
but you sure are a paradise.

Spring night in October
passion fogs up the windows
they want to watch
the rise & fall of planetary bodies
comets streaking across
	night's thigh
the arms of Orion hangin' on-
to a quivering back
Oh! you wanna holler
heaven now to hell with tomorrow
this is the splendor
whenever
we get together.

Who wants to watch?

© 1998 The Poet Formerly Known As Mark States

The Low of Your High

I wish the sound of your two syllables
would take me back 2 playin'
	Monopoly by candlelight
	after Loma Prieta earthquake
back to sippin' wine
on the patio you got that leotard
strugglin' 2 hold in
your chest ooh yes –
but no, I remember
the tale of betrayal how
your best friend was going thru a divorce
and her man
became me.
I was convicted & sentenced for another's crimes.

The sound of your two syllables
is the sound of
knife pulling out of chest with
	my heart on it.
The high never matches the low
this I know
years later it's still there 2 advise me
	son, if you're not
	strong enough 2 handle the withdrawal
	don't do the needle
	of infatuation
it'll take you places then strand you
that's why
Lover's Lane is always the edge of a cliff,
shit.
Pretty stars, pretty
long way down 2 the weeds & garbage.
And down there,
	rubbing lump on back of head,
add name 2 list
that upon overhearing it
takes you or me
	back 2 the low.

© 2000 The Poet Formerly Known As Mark States

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