Blankets of Snow on a Plate of Beef Wellington
Michael Internicola © 2004
she walks bent
over a little bit
on blankets of snow
and she likes to
laugh and she wants to be in love
more than anything else in this world.
her favorite dish is some steak number
i can't pronounce and she wears
a watch from tiffany's
that her father gave her when she was
twenty one years old.
she walks bent
over a little bit
on blankets of snow
and she likes to
laugh and she wants to be in love
more than anything else in this world
and she stands by that love or no love and always smiles.
she's the stem that holds up everything beautiful
like her pink toe nails or the tango.
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I Want an Ugly Woman
Michael Internicola © 2004
i want an ugly woman with a cold sore
on every part of her lip.
i want her to have one leg
and fart every time she laughs.
i want an ugly woman
who busted her nose in a fight
over the three hundred forty eight dollars
she made last year and won't fix it.
i want an ugly woman
with sardines in place of breasts
and no tongue so she can't talk
and tell me how great i am.
i want an ugly woman
whose old boyfriend's have a list
of annoying shit she did
that bothered them to no end.
i want an ugly woman
with no hair like me,
one with no energy or $ or cause
to wake up in the morning for.
i want an ugly woman
who never gets to meet the parents.
i want an ugly woman on the inside,
a woman so empty and competitive and shallow
that that bugs her more
than looking in the mirror
at what she hates about herself.
in my own way i'll wish her well
from the bridge or roof
we'll both be jumping off of soon.
i'd hold her hand going down but
i'm sure she doesn't have any.
what i really want is an ugly woman
who steals my lucky rocks
and can't wear hats because her head's too big
and i hope that hope stays away from me
in the near future.
i hope it lets me fall
for the next twenty three seconds in peace.
i hope that the numbing wind
quits calling my name forever
because that's when i'll get a good woman.
it happens that way all the time.
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I Was Wrong to Talk to You That Way Today Momma
Michael Internicola © 2004
i can never find the words
to say what i'm feeling inside
but that's gonna kill me when you die.
i want you to know i love you and if we
can't be friends in this life for whatever
reasons then that's just the way it is for us.
it doesn't mean i love you any less.
i always thought you deserved better
than me and what you had. i wish i
could talk to you but maybe we're just too different
or maybe it's me like it always is.
it's bullshit of me to be like that but it's
harder because i don't know why.
can only say i love you, dear.
sweet dreams before work tomorrow.
i can never say the right things.
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Empty Empty Spaces
Michael Internicola © 2004
rick and stacy were sitting on some
steps and sar walked by and rick
noticed
her but
she didn't
see them
or maybe she did but it was awkward
so she sped by. what a stupid conversation
they all would have had, "what's mike up to?"
sar might have
asked them and
they would have
"i don't know. i
haven't seen him in so long" then rick would laugh
and she'd laugh, "where is he living?" rick'd ask
sarah and sar'd answer, "i don't know. we don't
talk anymore." and then she'd walk away
feeling stupid and small and rick and
stacy would kiss because they're
married and still
together.
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I Knocked Out All His Front Teeth with a Beer Bottle and Left Him for Dead in the Hallway
Michael Internicola © 2004
she called me one night and said he roughed her up
and i asked where he lived but she wouldn't tell me.
so i called one of her friends and she told me.
he buzzed me in for a free pizza.
i beat that fucker down hard when he opened the door.
i broke his nose,
his cheeks,
his skull,
his imitation of a dick,
his ribs,
his knee cap.
i thumbed his eyeballs.
i knocked out all his front teeth with a beer bottle
and left him for dead in the hallway.
there was even blood on the ceiling.
then i went over to her place with the teeth in
a ziploc bag
and i looked at her and she looked at me
and i walked away.
i never said a fucking word.
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Don't Talk Just Fuck It When It Gets Hard
Michael Internicola © 2004
the swede asked me,
"what has america ever done that was good?"
and i stared into her pretty blue eyes
and i thought about blowing the whole thing off
but i wanted to fuck her,
especially after jc left with the birthday hooker.
i told her i didn't give a fuck
about iraq or the jews or europe
or any other place that hated me for no reason
and she looked at me
and brought up the indians
just because she had a native tattoo,
"what about what you did to the indians..." she asked,
"me personally..." i answered,
"i don't give a fuck about them either."-
she laughed
then i took her down to the beach
and we sat under the moonlight
and people walked by
and i pulled her pants off
and i planted a seed.
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Mr. Campbell
Michael Internicola © 2004
"in the logical sense of the word you are an artist."
he told me,
"you are very rare and being with an artist
is a very difficult thing. it's a human being thing. they
have tremendous short comings. road blocks to everything
they do but they have to have that. everything is a
paragraph. everything is a chapter for a writer.
"in your case you need a woman who understands this.
she's creative. another artist or maybe not but she must
pocess the understanding part. that's most important.
an individual with whom you trust completely. you have
to be very selective in who you get close to. she has to
read your work and be amazed and give you the leeway
to live the kind of life your gonna live. no warm bodies.
problem is a woman changes at a certain age. they want
the security of a nice place. money to live the lifestyle.
"in time you may very well have the big house but there
is a chance this will never happen. she should be good
with this. her belief in what your doing will have to be
good enough and she may not be the prettiest one
either because that's all bullshit. this kind of woman
will give you the mark and what you provide for her
will be the most deserving thing she could ever imagine
feasting her heart on. you got it.
"now take it and use it."
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Room 45 Patong
Michael Internicola © 2004
jan got out of the shower and dried off.
i was drinking heineken.
she said, "you help me with the money?"-
"yeah." i told her and lit up a cigarette.
all of them were curved.
the other one was in bed looking at me.
jib was fucking the girl from the boat
in his room.
i couldn't get hard.
i was drunk
and didn't want them in the room anymore.
the sun was probably coming up.
i asked them to leave
and they both said they'd see me in two years.
the hot one rattled off something in thai.
i handed them 500 bhat for a taxi
and then they split.
three people in the same bed
is two too many.
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I'd Just Cry in Front of You
Michael Internicola © 2004
I'd just cry in front of you like a pussy
and i'd look at the two bucks
and the cologne you got me last year,
the cigarettes and the lifestyles,
the watered down whiskey
and the zep cd and i'd cry.
i'd cry all over the hotel key
and the bottle opener,
the picture of san francisco,
the ash tray and the thing of water.
i'd cry in front of you at how it's ending.
i'd just cry in front of you.
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