Bachelor Books

Off the swelled main roads,
those with state highway numbers,
dirty fountains supported by stone stags,
bookend a shop for bachelors.

Through the mirrored entrance
brown papered faces,
eyes angled high or low-

ly darting, become fixedly occupied
with wall crack inspection
in narrow yellow-lighted porn halls
tattooed by overripe desire.

Embossed genre signs hang
on rows of pressboard shelving
like lowbrow library call numbers
(licking Dewey’s decimals):

Automotive Encounters
Accident Victims
Black On White
Load-bearing Bar Matrons
Man To Man
Mutant Fetish
Straight Talkin’ Cowboys

Throughout darkened viewing booths
or plexiglas-divided Live Girl stalls
pistols, apologetic and unapologetic,
dangle or salute the fall-

ing away of lonely skin thirst and
the ramping up of bare flesh excitement.

Out among the rows of glass displays
full of vibe, flex and glow,
unwed men, collegians, and those rampant
fugue-staters with Viagra bloodstreams
wander about staring, grasping, gripping,

pressing a post-industrial disaffected love
cultivated and served up cold,
but at least it’s tactile and pungent
deep in a bookshop for bachelors.


11 thoughts on “Bachelor Books

  1. oh wow. the harshness of the poem struck me, this cold love (or even lust rather). the prevalence of desire, the lack of space for love. maybe this is how life is and maybe we’re just looking in the wrong bookshop 😉
    i really liked the poem 🙂 xx


  2. Where there is a will and a few dollars…

    I’ve read your poem three times and picked up new nuances with each reading. My favorite, licking Dewey’s decimals. Intelligent innuendo rocks. Love this poem.


    • Thank you again, Beth. And again. And again :0 This poem was an attempt to combine intelligence and thoughtfulness with crude life and back-room humor. The omnipotent perspective on love and lust, I believe, is the goal that gleams through the luridness of the poem’s staring eyes and grasping hands. I’m glad you took the time to read for nuance; that means a lot to me.


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