Friday, May 13, 2016

REBECCA WOLFF ~



R E B E C C A     W O L F F




Man Tits




Look at that pair,



on the one over there.

He's young, skinny, low

muscle tone, poor, white, under-

educated . . . gazing

down

on a

path



in the little patch

of yard in front of his

unfavorably situated

rental where he stands, hands

on hips, mutable, conceivable

speculation on the next weekend

chore.



But his tits are the good

kind: fat, conical, pale against

the brown of his wife-beater tan,

nipples slightly shiny,

areolate. Bouncy, native tits



like the ones you came to see.






Admit No Impediment




I'm going to get up from the table

and go to the bathroom



When I get back,

if your napkin has moved

from the left side of your plate

to the right, I'll

know you want to.



There will be no need to speak.

Or, wait a minute,

maybe it should be if your napkin

hasn't moved.



I want to make this

as easy for you

as I can.






Parkeresque




I'd like a

lidless



Vicodin.

Oblivion.



Countless

sensation of him



leaving the room.

Come back soon.



It occurred to me

fait accompli.



Clinamen.

Phantom limb.



Black cat sleeping

(you used to be

next to me)

next to me



dreams our lost

telepathy.


____________________



Rebecca Wolff
One Morning —.
Wave Books, 2015








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