Throw away your mascara,

mousse and underwear.

Wear these lines for a week,

just one week, not a long time.


Let the words mold your face,

drape your shoulders,

your delicate breasts.

Let the lyric infuse your dreams,

scent your pillows,

press your thighs with invisible weight.


At the end of the week

if these Emperor’s clothes

are your neonpoem,

call me. I’ll be here on hold,

won’t have eaten, but won’t rewrite.

You are new ink that will not dry.



  1. Craig,

    You are a delightful mix of sophist and sapient! (I don’t mean either
    of those labels as disparaging..just mean that you often play the rogue
    as a vehicle for your message)
    I use to read your poems and blush, but I have long since learned that
    you use the physical as a metaphor and you always make it work. The last
    stanza is magnificent and beneath that brash facade, there is wisdom and



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