Other Poems by:

Michael Cuglietta

NO MORE

no more bottles of wine
turning my teeth purple
no more cigarettes
burning holes in my ashtray 
no more sleeping in 
till the afternoon
no more pornographic DVDs 
no more calls
to phone sex lines
no more strip clubs
no more late night women
over bottles of 
domestic beer
no more making love
without a condom
penetrating a drunken woman
whose name Iíve not bothered to learn
no more flat screen television set 
no more high speed internet
no more Sirius satellite radio
no more 30 gig ipod
filled to capacity
with stolen music
no more $500 navigation system
Iíll learn how to read a map
no more laptop computer
no more wireless cardno more 24 ounce 
Styrofoam cup
filled with 
convenience store coffee
lots of cream
lots of sugar
no more cheeseburgers
no more donuts
no more not exercising
no more gaining weight
no more getting winded
just walking up the steps 
to my apartment
no more forgetting to take 
my vitamins
no more putting off
my doctorís visits
no more excuses
no more getting up early for work
no more trips to the bank
no more paychecks to deposit
no more taxes to pay
fuck the IRS
tell my accountant 
to go take a walk
no more stopping at 
the post office 
no more time-sensitive
legal documents
no more overnight
priority mail
no more business lunches
business cards
business meetings
business clothes
business conventions 
business, business, business
no more space left in my head
no more loneliness 
no more getting bored 
no more fogged over mornings
no more standing naked
pissing alcohol
into my neighborís potted plants
no more phone calls to the police
no more domestic disturbances
no more crying to my father
crying to my mother
crying to my sister
crying to any pretty girl
who will listen to me

Saturday Night

I remember nights
alone with you
I watched 
while you
squashed cockroaches 
with an old pair of Converse
wearing nothing 
but white cotton panties 
from the Gap 
with the day of the week
 printed on the front
it said Wednesday
over your cunt
even though 
it was Saturday night 

Your Heavy Body

I havenít smoked a cigarette 
in five days
I can breathe deeply
without pain in my chest
I can think clearly 
without fog in my head
I can taste 
every glass of wine
pick out the intricate flavors
I can hear you now
you sound tired
I donít want you 
missing any of your rest
I can feel you now 
run my tongue along your scars
itís no secret 
I know all about you
how you pretend to be 
run down
like nothing matter
show you pretend not to hear me
when I say how pretty 
you could be
how you tell me youíre too tired
when all you want is sex 

I can taste 
the cold sore medication 
caked on-top 
of your dried out lips
I can taste 
the fermented grapes
rotting overnight in your mouth
Iíve been warned about
morning breath
but kissed you anyway
Iíve been told how skinny you are
but still 
my arm has fallen asleep 
underneath the weight 
of your heavy body

30 More Minutes

Can you taste the poison on my breath?
donít pretend like itís not there
Iíve thought of nothing 
but your death 
for so long now
I donít know what it is 
to live anymore 

Can you taste the poison on my tongue?
it makes the days seem so long
wake up 
stare into my bloodshot eyes
while brushing my teeth
listen to my dehydrated heartbeat
contemplate 
seeing a doctor
my family physician 
wouldnít even recognize me  

Can you taste the poison in my mouth?
it burned going down
Iíve got a sweet woman
she calls me 
just to say good morning
but somehow
that ainít enough
I still get depressed
I still feel the dark clouds
coming towards me 

I hate everyone
I hate waking up alone in the morning
I hate my crumbly apartment building
thereís mold growing in the ceiling
it just might be killing me
I hate the artwork 
hanging on the walls
I hate all of the 48 ounces of coffee
I stuff into my body
each morning
I hate the fatty fast food
which has to hold me over 
till lunch time
I hate the near empty pack of Marlboro Reds
which cause the shortness in my breathe
I hate being woke up 
by the alarm clock
just 30 more minutes 
is all Iím asking for

**Copyright 2007 Michael Cuglietta, all rights reserved
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