Nikita Teixeira

I would compare you to an Adonis rose, except
my therapist says I shouldn’t make comparisons,
and I want her to put a rose on your nose, God
knows, but you’re a dim wilted I, dry withered I,
weathered down into clinched fist of a rosy view.
Need I be retold that that rose was just another?
Some one has to be paid, and anyways, since this
desire of a romanticized size for a banal design of
Nature tears me up, naturally, I counter restraint,
holding its own double-edged point. I warn Self
not to make an annual event out of your flaws. I
best not associate you with any thing, never mind
me, in a reflection on flattering a fold within many
to please, again, who? Why? It all smells of bloom.

after Roy Rogers & Dale Evans on TMS

she said she was too old to go out to the video arcade,
but he took her anyway, for himself, but also for her
in his way that he knew she got pleasure when he did.

WANTED 100

stardust midnight frolic got along lil’ doggie gun slip
one more in the slot. 1up. flamin’ finger tappin’ hard
on hot cherry red button. bullet skee balls hit bull’s eye.

TOP SCORE 200

she has a good grip on the joystick now, and she is
trigger happy. all stirrup, he go takin’ the pony on a
ride turn. spittin’ twang got him racin’ towards finish.

now she’s wailin’ on head, and it goes right on down
into the hole. then 2 player shooter and alarm apple
valley of tongue tickets come fly out and lasso a smile.

REWARD 300

they trade it all in for a cute lil’ cow with supper bell
ring to remind them of the good times and go lightly
out with bibs on for lobster. they weren’t dried up yet.

yodelin’ what a machine! some mighty fine ridin’ back there.
real slick shootin’ too. it was a joint effort. and the king says
to his lady, happy 70th, doll! and she says, g’ thanks, baby

takes a seat and saddles up in 4 wheeler to hoof long
hazy wide canyon range, lucky U, home holdin’ onto
happy trail horizon of comic book star’s singin’ glow

a crooked villanelle after Roy Clark on The Muppet Show

Brighter and brighter, red barn on rock burned.
Dog raised hell hawing at the weather vane.
What happened? Like Dad. Daughters never learned.

Farmer was inherently proud he earned
crop, stock, and girls to raise up in his reign.
Cigar too tragic, warning on rock burned

stable as his marooned moon saddles yearned.
In red state, his possessions grew like stain.
What happened? Spot stops. Trope girls never learned.

He teased strings of second fiddles spurned.
His bible belt dealt strikes with disdain.
Devil liar to trail lived there and burned.

One beat the dough while butter was churned.
Smoky flour cloud covered up glass pane.
What happened put up with line farther learned.

Only the cock and mule could have discerned
the result of making his girls refrain
as 50 shades of barn’s bright-red pain burned.
Like what happened, Dad? Doubters never learned.