Turbodog

Turbodog, Budweiser
fuel a spring fever that
races like a jailbreak
at the zoo.
As I run around like some
cultured ape, looking
through tigers eyes
predatory eyes
like a bionic man
honing in on my idea
of beauty, fairness
soft features
velvet skin
her build either
slight enough to
hoist into the air
and crush in my arms
or maybe just solid enough to deliver
a concrete flesh reality
to my addled brains.
And oh Goddamnit
the testosterone is
pumping all frantic
and mainline
like an old-time
junkie’s worst
nightmare of
total awareness.
Every hair
is a razor blade
set on edge in your skin.
Skin that is
aglisten with
your own blood
and yer just a-grinnin' like
the cultured ape
of a maniac that
you are. Kissing
random ears and
necks in the
crowd with that
total hypno-eyed
Count Dracula groove
of fear and fascination.
Love and sex are
tangled up all
brambles in blue jeans
so you don’t care
as long as it don’t hurt
and she smells good.

Her mind is fluff
but that cotton candy
smile fills your
Technicolor daydreams
with a jumpstart heartbeat.
You are the Goddamn
king of
this jungle. You are
the Goddamn predator
of brick and concrete
and broken glass.
A lover in a land
of gaslit memories
and presentries
of vivid
black and white watercolor
treacheries
rendered by the
most proficient of the
syringe-armed sirens.

There is a question mar shaped scar
in the skin over her heart, but
you don’t even begin to
wonder.

But now Spring fever
has struck like
aluminum
bat in the teeth
as the tide turns
like a Big Wheel with a spinout bar
cause now you’ve
come out
of your hibernation, into a
Prozac-popping April.

Blue skies
night breezes
haunting laughter
brambles
razor hair
velvet skin
Turbodog.

Austin, TX. 1996