bleached animal skull on ground
Two Poems
David Kornblatt

Red Tortoiseshell Ray-Bans

so there was this obsession I had
Red Tortoiseshell Ray-Bans
There’s movie star madness in my brain
I would drive salesmen crazy
Can I hop it up later?
This is what I’d like
Do you have what I need
It's a desire I must feed
Marx or Adam Smith be damned
They could never have what I planned
To obtain
a poor man’s attempt at superstardom
There’s all this talk of isms I’m into non-specificism
I know I’m super, vanity letters be damned
With those shades I won't be able to
Peek into your soul you'll never know
Me I can't, won't know you but you know me
“‘cause I present the you, you need to be”
Let me go out fast and have seizures indiscriminately
But I'm not that deep and you're too steep
and it hurts me though
to tell you so.
Where are those shades?
If I had them man, with the flexible temples
I’d be a fucking rockstar
what does that shit mean?

Bukowski the cat

That little furry black pawed freak
Forget the feline and the leather pad of a nose he has
blue eyed souled saber-toothed monster.
A pseudo man with black claws and style
His tail or tales only move one way
Bukowski can see right through anyone
He will say “Pleased to meet you hope you guess my name.”
He wants the best kitty litter
“No Johnny Cat litter for me
I’m so superior to that.”
He doesn’t care about plumbing
Or whether or not the rent will be on time
Men and women walk by him
“it must be nice to be a cat”
All Bukowski knows is poop eat and sleep
Hey I will sleep till eternity is here
A guitar string breaks, it’s his time to stalk it till it does what he wants
it to be his baby bird or mouse for him
the night is the time for me to romp
I turn on the TV screen he jumps a foot high
He insists that I love his highness
more than my life.
Blood the shock of it everywhere maybe the cats a vampire
He leaves the red blood all over my bathroom floor
He peacefully purrs. He says it’s not me it’s you