JARRETT FULTON

Ms Lee from room 123

What was God thinking when he created your genetic make-up
Long silk hair, thin lips and a size b-cup
With glare, under the sun, that stares at you throughout the streets of 
Japan
Your body's curves are so pure and indifferent
Probably had doctors drooling over you,
When they saw the texture of your skin,
Making your first breath as an infant
Don't use choppy words in my poems,
Being as my seed, my love, and my home
Your presence makes me feel timid
Hearing those footsteps past the door
Me, looking though the peephole to catch your perfect image
I spend raining nights, lying on the couch, looking at a pillow and wishing 
you were there
Rubbing my fingers through your long, dark elegant hair
Observing the small wrinkles that appear underneath your eye every time you smile
Mimicking voices of us arguing over differences inside my head
Then enter you for the first time,
Feeling the tenderness and warmth
I place these thoughts in a chest, buried in my heart
Wishing they could glow; shining in the dark
I wish, Ms. Lee
The beautiful lady from room 123
The wall that separates us only makes me stronger
But I grow weary; I grow weary, Ms. Lee
Of being alone
You are twice my age and it would be considered a sin
For these hands to glaze your precious yellow skin
Ms. Lee from room 123
My lust for you must stay alive
For Without it, I can not survive

copyright 2003

JOHN AMEN

The Lonely Vacation

Empty chairs under a blue umbrella.
A toothless man standing in water 
ankle-deep, holds up a dead shark.
His son, bleeding from the eyes, 
flogs himself with palm leaves.

A naked woman smiles at me,
breasts heaving like buoys,
tar trickling from her thighs.
Her husband, chewing a fishhook,
is dressed in tinfoil, 
wedding ring burning like a nova.

The lifeguard recites sonnets
to a teenage girl clutching a palm pilot.
Tourists flock down boardwalks
to see a messiah turn chicken bones into IOUs.

copyright 2003 JOHN AMEN