Poetry: The Whore, The John, The Poet, Casual Encounters, Et al. By Jonathan Hayes

The Whore, the John, the Poet, Casual Encounters, Et al.
 
(A live reading from The City.)                                                                                
                                                                                                                                       “Ave Maria!”
 
Three mirrors — plus a special guest appearance: Ex Nihilo – in a 3D of sorts;
reflecting themselves, as usual, and hopefully not seen, viz., to avoid cancer.
 
Reply to: anon-157953@craigslist.org
 
A raised scar of blow resting gently on the top of my desk, Atlas Shrugged, boots with zippers

that make just enough noise so that you can hear them as you walk down the street, the

schizophrenic moves of a knight in a game of chess, double-sided tape, flossing your teeth

without the thread getting irretrievably stuck, Tom Waits, getting lost in a foreign land by

yourself, hearing your keystrokes fall slowly like the remains of a rainstorm from the eaves,

falling into a dark space, wondering what the light will reveal....
 
(If there’s money in the ATM, time to hustle.)
 
she was the whore who looked him in his eyes
she was the whore who asked why he wore sunglasses at night
she was the whore who kissed him on his left cheek and gave him a discount
she was the whore who moaned in his ear, dragging her hair across his face
she was the whore who asked if he bit his fingernails
she was the whore who asked where he was born
she was the whore who liked his tattoos
 
[ Reverse ibid. ]
 
(Whatever he wanted, he sometimes didn’t get.)
 
he was the customer who laid the bills down on a silent, neutral table
he was the customer who squeezed her ass and made her naked jump
 
(Don’t call it poetry, that’s the first mistake.) 
 
Butt — the biggest word in the dictionary
hers was all here and there
grab and and and 
palm slap ass
Saturn night psalm
sunny-inside 
blatant enuf to tug smoke tobacco
fire inside cherry
uncaged in face
cartoon-dead presidents in order
green dollar / gold lettuce
towels fall off
body massage body
 
Reply to: anon-178553@craigslist.org
 
Looking for a fun place to watch the game tonight. Love to watch my boys skating around,

kicking ass while drinking good beer and watching boys. No really, I am a girl, a cute girl who

loves hockey & good beer. Unfortunately, everyone is a damn baseball or football fan (Bo-ring),

and so I haven't found anyone to join me. Not too many chicks love hockey. Any Ideas? 
And don't say, "My place."
 
(If there’s junk in the stomach, the image has settled.)
 
she was the whore who smelled like Macy’s flowers
she was the whore who offered her body like an altar
she was the whore who had mastered smiling and killing 
she was the whore who stared into a mirror
 
(His skull will make a good ashtray for future species.)
 
he was the customer who would be back
he was the customer with an ATM libido
he was the customer who doped up bags on a Market Street chess table, Kaboom!
 
he was the customer who would empty his pockets like a kid at a video game
 
(Dude calls himself a poet, the second mistake.)
 
next word
splitting movement
Powerpuff-Girl pillowcase
panther purse o prophylactic
deli-wrap smiles
sentence going sphere
free-base comedy
baby oil slip slide situation(s)
always more always
 
Reply to: anon-187556@craigslist.org
 
Next to impossible I’m sure, but hey. I drink, I smoke, I have tattoos and I listen to loud music, at

this point particularly Nashville Pussy and Dillinger Four. But I also love to read and learn, am educated, have a real job, and just bought a Doris Day album. I appreciate wit and sarcasm, but

my sense of humor often runs to the infantile as well. I’m initially attracted to the tall and lanky

but have definitely seen my way past that before. Embrace or be the walking contradiction that I

am and perhaps we’ll hit it off.  If you hate cats, you are not for me. I'm 28.
 
(When the blanket covers nothing.)
 
she was the whore, holy
she was the whore, empty
she was the whore, balanced
she was the whore, in control
she was the whore, the body
she was the whore, a friendly ghost
she was the whore, archetype of the void
she was the whore, who money could buy
she was the whore, who brought the sun 
 
she was the whore he would bring Gucci ENVY perfume to
she was the whore he would bring an antacid, blue-eyed stomach to  
 
she was the whore who would only let him make so many mistakes
she was the whore operating by rote 
 
(His skull will make a good ashtray for future species.)
 
he was the customer who would pay for this 
he was the customer who knew what he wanted 
 
(Don’t read as poetry, your last mistake.)
 
extra services extend relief
flesh-way to the the the 
a beginning is nexus
of flex this!
 
dare her mirror
of the image
butt representation
lose foundation
for pure form of of of
with more meaning more
cheesy wall-speaker music
white towels snake
surround sour sperm
pretending to prosper
world of give-and-take
that is what the make wakes
butt and nothing more
a calming organ resides
descends to the nod of XTC October night!    
 
Shower.
 
[ Fourth-dimension voice, from the balcony concert: “She’s a human being, you fucking idiot!” ]
 
An additional another – ubiquitous unpleasant – like the garbage men in the morning.
 
He was the whore who came to her like a dog: Adam enjoyed the apple that Eve picked.
 
Desire seeks a wet place, where flesh hides seeds.
 
A hug before the bus.
 
An exchange, like the ecosystem.
 
The encore is a painting, and worth sleeping inside.
 
                                                                                                                                       “Ave Maria!”
 
(His skull will make a good ashtray for future species.)





Jonathan Hayes lives in Oakland, California with his wife and their cat.