duane esposito





I spend the day

lamenting & shaking,


quite sad, wasted

for the entire human potential.


I am unable

to face others


who, regardless

of my gracious, delicious nature,


are ridiculous . . .

& in our defense,


there isn’t much to say.

Evolution will surely


give up

on us all.


Yet I am glad about such things

from time to time


as love & triumph

& grizzled distress


& worldly accomplishment

& knowledge comes


from my realization

of the need I have


in the midst of this

to create.


I am Duane, the Good.

My wife’s got muffins.


I walk through the house

scratching & pulling


my scrotum.

Eat those muffins.


& I, distracted by failure,

the matter is the loss


present in my head,

admire her remarkable


beauty in the usual way.


Admit a few flaws:

twisted bones & crushed busloads.


Sprinklings for the shit pile.

Anxiety all night.


44 sawed-off shotgun barrels.

Rising semi-circles of light.


Her ass pressed up against my stomach.

Nose silhouetted behind my closed eyes.



Rain down the dark hallway.


This delicious brain.

My Heart’s large, illuminate Mind.