Ralph-Michael Chiaia

Nice bombs, baby, said the bald chocolatier
Nice head, baldy, said the buxom Japanese babe
Nice babe, bin Laden, said the taxi driver stud
Nice chocolatier, stud, said the movie producer sissy
Nice chains & whips, Master, said the terrorist financer
Nice black markets, Director, said the henchmen pawns
Nice Jihadis, Allah, said the CEOs consolidating profits
Take a break guys, said the buxom Japanese slut
DP me on the boardroom table, she said,
Nice eyes from this page are on us. Don’t worry it’s art!
Nice jugs, baby, said the CEO & bald chocolatier
The words came out muffled cause their mouths were full of,
as you guessed, the best pressed breasts.

Runway girl, au pair girl, birthday girl, fair-haired girl
am I not your girl? altar girl, alpha beta disco girl
atta girl, ass girl, runaway girl, bad girl,
bunny girl, chorus girl, pin-up girl, cover girl

a cowgirl, booty girl, cam-cyber-snooty-girl
a drunk girl, a dream girl, a geisha girl girly girl
fell in love with a girl, goodtime sweet schoolgirl
geek girl, turned flunk girl

fly girl gone pop girl,
now movie girl, drugged girl, drunk and blunted girl;
hollaback hooters girl, cosplay harajuku girl
gossip girl, ex-girl, gothic Lolita girl

party girl, rave girl, orion slave girl
pepsi-cola dog-shit girl, bubblegum quick-wit girl
juicy kamikaze girl, invisible materia-lizzy girl
Jersey girl: “I am not your girl,” nasty girl, naughty girl
Internet porn girl.

Office girl, not innocent girl, not such a pretty girl,
nitro girl, little drummer girl, soy yogurt super-girl
Liberian girl, Jessie’s girl, cosmic-Inca mummy girl
Mayan girl, ayahuasca girl, nothing’s real but the girl kinda girl
Strawberry Fields, girl.

You go girl, show girl—queer eye for the straight girl
spice girl, slut girl, rice girl, what girl?
rope girl, snitch girl, sex and the single girl
dope girl, bitch girl, po’ little rich girl

spider girl, bat girl, reverse fuckin’ cowgirl
trojan girl-gamer girl, adware fuckin’ blocker girl
surfer girl, tank girl, Brooklyn girl, who’s that girl?
dance Shabba Ranks girl! My girl: yeah, thanks girl.

I’m so tired poolside, what now?
Don’t you think so?
She flirts drippingly with no shame
No? Show me no.

She so flirts drippingly with no shame
Just me, not any so-and-so
Hysterically sexy girl
Ho CEO!

Hello hysterically sexy girl
Dodo. Let go–
Some girls pull the guava insides
From your ego. Let go.

Some girls pull the guava insides
she knows you know, even so
she’s the CEO of the strip show
bro’. Flow aglow.

She’s so the CEO of the strip show
so-so, sitting drinking green tea
in that short skirt, cup in front of the brie
she scowls, yet it’s kind of sexy
No? Show me no!

She’s so crazy, lazy
flirts drippingly with no shame
dumps on you all the blame
I’m so tired at the table, what now?
So slow we grow!

It’s a go-go strip show, swim show
In bikini she’s, whoa!
Even in Tagalog: gusto mo ho
I want no, let whims flow, a-
go-go swim show

he runs to catch the train
that doesn’t stop
time is internal, spiraling now
a girl he’s been practicing imagining
waits for him at some improbable stop
still unbuilt: a mere proposal on a drawing
board in some workroom
will blast through cheap restaurants and
Laundromats; will attract new
buildings and they will dine on Tofu
soup and cold, chewy noodles

A strawberry is turning
but I pop it in my mouth
suck it from stem
it’s too soft but good enough

To whomever it may concern:
he’s not a good man
in fact, he calls me ugly
all the time
throw me out after sex
needs his time for
listening to some little
voice in his head. that
voice just wants to get
with as many girls
as possible. to
whomever it may
concern: don’t fall
for his lines. they are
brittle as an old man
playing hockey.

I used to love raga
that Mexican-style
hip-hop, all those
rhymes. and everybody
loves brie, brie and wine
brie and sweet green
seedless grapes.
consider this poem
a grape. consider each
word another glass of
wine. and I’m the brie:
ragabrie L.

Now the buses slither
the dirt roads with idols
chickens on top
bags of rice
guadalupes and rosaries.
on their way to see you
so pray, to know
the great expanse
you are the launch pad
that throttles them
into free fall.

if you got funk you got style
the thing I’m most scared of
is myself. that temper. that
attack. 70s new york city in
me. in my blood. what can I
do? it’s me.

the thing with seoul, is it is
so enclosed, you know all
hidden and boarded up, makes
my mind wonder what’s
going on in dark corners
of the city. makes me make
dark corners happen in my
city.