D. L. Tricarico- Three Poems

THE ONE FROM RUSTY TRUCK

gypsy, doe-eyed poet
with the hippie clothes
and the naughty mouth,
is it just your sensory
language I'm drawn to,
the raw images
that speak of the body
as if it were a cathedral
or is it maybe the false
bravado, the longing to
be thought of as tough
when you are nothing but
hot lava inside, in that secret
place where you quiver
with both lust and fear?



QUESTION

on a cool sunny
morning
the pain hits
and medicine
doesn't help
and lying in a soft
bed in a dark room
doesn't soothe
and hot coffee
doesn't comfort
and the soft
fur of your best
dog doesn't
lift the veil of
suffering.  So what
in the hell
do you expect me
to do about it?



THE MARRIAGE OF TRUE MINDS

The world is spinning
out of control
around us--
the clowns are running the circus,
the children are starting
their newest adolescent
cult in the garage,
the creditors stalk us
as if they had knives in their palms
and we were celebrities
bloated on our fame,
and lastly, and most sadly,
our love has become nothing
but a casualty of
these soulless suburban ruins.
What can we do,
I ask?  My voice is weak
and my heart slams
against the inside of my chest
like a prisoner clanging
on the bars of his cell.
You think for a moment.
Wake me
in an hour, you say,
your eyelids heavy with pain
and the honey-tongued promise of sleep.

D.L. Tricarico lives in San Diego, but you could visit him here:  www.danslitcafe.blogspot.com