She Says...

i'm smiling here as i always do when you write but this time i need to respond with insight. you're the one fellow writer that i can entrust to understand that words don't always mean what the seem, they can stand for another or work as a team. since we've begun our wordsmith fun, i never knew you to take each word as they come. literal? no, not you! explanations-no way! but i fear this time, indeed i must.

the word, it's a verb, "to shop" is quite funny, as nowhere in it does it mention money. cuz money's a noun, it's verb "to pay" (not the hair kind) (see, i know how it works, your little mind). anyway...."to shop" just requires a willing girl friend, to wander the streets from east to west end, and flit from shop to shop, perhaps making a stop, to ogle at clothes, to try a few on, and dream of the day when my mastercard indeed will pay, for finery and winery and more than a little dinery.

now, these nude photos, a brilliant idea, i think you might be onto something here. cuz if people are willing to give over a sum, well then nudity, here i come.

He Says...

it's none of my business i know but how do you shop, where does the
dough come from i inquire, i aquire it through slavery perhaps you were
a slave too and saved through the years i don't mean to be rude or cop
attitude, perhaps with money you are just much more shrewd, or maybe
make some on the side posing nude, if that is the case I'll see you at
nine, a hundred for you but the photos are mine.

She Says...

oh my dear vinny
how i apologize!for the drought in the poems
please, no more cries!
yesterday i was shopping, all out and about
down in SoHo, the village, so hip, there's no doubt.
but away from my computer, my hands are so tied
i can't wax poetic, but i have to confide
that a day without vin is like a day without peanut butter
it lacks creamy flavor and luscious delight
No silly phrases of philosophic insight.
But oh my dear friend, you soon will discover
that i'm back with a renewed poetic verve
but something tells me you'll throw me a curve.

She Says...

this is poor little vin.
last night he had a run-in. with a dark, burly man named Jager
and a sultry, light-haired temptress called Gin.
today there's an army invading inside
they're taking his organs and head for a ride.
Poor little Vin should make an appointmentwith a universal soothing ointment
She is a goddess,from heavenward does she flow
To assuage poor Vin, she is H20.

He Says...

i think i said something yesterday about getting wasted and how that's
becoming a problem well maybe i didn't say it but i thought it but i'm
afraid i didn't think about it long enough it feels like a little man's
knifing me in the gut and twisting the knife and then the balloons float
back like memories that chew on my head. it hurts.

He Says...

no no really, that was fine
yes yes it seems we're all on a roll with losing control a kiss or a
curse it's just getting worse sometimes i ask why we adopt this behavior
i bet chris mchugh would say "jesus is your savior" but it's fun i guess
and life's too short though i'll always stray from fun one might snort

She Says...

what were we thinking this weekend when we
hit the bottle, the smokes, and had a dance party.
the pictures, they're golden, i can't wait to see
nipsy's romp on the bed,caught on film, with sweeney.
oh why did i drink all the wine, all the sin!
the punch at the party had already done me in.
but i continued to imbibe, which is why nipsy's bribe
seemed right at the time...but perhaps the decision was not the best
to expose for all to see my breast.

She Says...

ramdas has become quite a fine looking guy
like some of the other ridge alumni
oh, how much reminiscing
and oh how much more and more kissing

He Says...

let's not forget vomit
in cans and in stalls
on sidewalks, on stairways
on backseats, on walls
i'm thankful i think that my brain is not dead
i feel like a lion
kicked me in the head
but i too got the number for Ramdas Prabhu
why, you may ask
i found him quite cute

She Says....

oh what a sight
those meant to reunite
spinning and sinningand drowning in Bass
some so tipsy they fell on their ass.
so much cavorting and sipping and shooting the shots
some of the guys, were dorky,now hot.
John bought some shots for Ramdhas Prabhu,
I gave my phone number to him too.
Why the hell, do you ask,
cuz i was drunk off my ass.

She Says...

allow me to express remorse
over the virulence of our last discourse.
if i tend to be firey, a wee bit too wirey,
don't take it to heart
i don't want to start
a war of words and finery.

i like what you say,it's not selfish at all,
why, writing is a cleansing of sorts
to wash out your brain
and see how your heart retorts.
you understand, dear writer, of course?

He Says...

alright, look here missy
i never claimed to be clever
no need to get pissy
you're crafty as well, maybe too much at times
the meaning was buried too deep in the rhymes
we both have the license to drive any phrase
and my words have often wound up in a maze
but if i know the meaning, then i hold the key
and i could care less if the others can see
the light that i shine, it is mainly for me
it's selfish, i know
but that's how i be

word.

She Says...

Alright, look here buddy,
You might think you're clever
But I think you're nutty.
You're crafty with words, let them scamper and play,
How could you not see what my verse meant to say?

You're not the only author with license
To use words like riots or kidnap or vices
To mean otherwise than their creators intended.
Why, I'm worried our whole world is upended
If you can't understand, if i have to translate,
the inner meaning of what i create.
Who knows what's at stake?
My poem, you silly, was about my headache.

He Says...

what is this pressure, what is this fear?
it cannot be your job perhaps it's your peers
people like Pepe who tease and taunt
but what you've got you surely should flaunt
cause real riots rarely occur in the head
like the miss world pageant, 100 are dead
at least you're alive with problems to face
instead of the dead, their thoughts go to waste

She Says...

riots in my head oh dread
they think we'll jeer and mock and scream!
a merciless pressure inducing machine.
while the flu it is not,
for my face is not hot,
the dance in my head needs to stop

He Says...

no write, how right, how right you are
i've been blue with a flu and falling apart
my brain is captive to a Captain named Germ
my limbs are lethargic like limp little worms
don't worry you won't lose your muse just yet
i bet i'll get better i'd best so don't fret
but for how long is the question for i am but frail
a pale little human, a human and male

She Says...

with all of the prose
that in my mailbox comes and goes
it is a joyous occasion
to find a note from my muse (of the male persuasion).

But I worry, I do, for my muse has been silent.
Has he succumbed to the flu, a virus that's violent?
Does he shun me, or scorn me or think me unworthy?

I miss his puns so delightful, his works so insightful.
Please let him know, should you see him pass by
That his rhyming counterpart says hi.

She Says...

oh my friend, you're so silly!
you're crazier than an old willy nilly
That goes running and jumping in a dress that is frilly.

Hey, little friend, your rhymes, they are nice!
They are funny and sweet, just like sugar and spice!
Your rhymes they run circles and circles around
Any boring old letters and sick bassett hounds.

So I say, my good poet,
And don't think you don't know it...
Keep on with these verses! don't utter these curses!
If you need inspiration, for all your creation...
Do as I did, you silly old goose...
and turn to that crazy ol' Dr. Seuss.

He Says...

i find i do better writing letters
than i would otherwise
but letters will never
win a pulitzer prize

surprise surprise
i must then surmise
the judge has poor eyes
for he cannot see
the truth in these lies

She Says...

can't read the signs they scream yet i'm blind
legs won't do walking i'm tired of talking
swallowing fumes that revel in doom
my head screams mayday, crashing curtains
no more of this play.

He Says...

too busy to write too dizzy no light snow white so what shut me up and
down like a clown drowning in elephant piss i miss the melee the heyday
led astray by an ashtray and fountains of spirits it's clear it's not
here it's gone like the window into the past, tense

She Says...

how i worried todaythat you'd gone away
For hours I wondered would a poem take flight
And into my mailbox quickly alight.
Silly musings, I know, and all laid to rest
And to your sweet verse I have one request.
That you not dance at home for fear of your friends.
There'd be something missing, we'd be at loose ends...
The oh-so-damn cuteness would crumble and fall,
It needs the whole group, leg humping and all.

He Says...

yes but now i know for future reference
to question my friends' sexual preference
for they humped my leg like dogs after bones
next time maybe i'll just dance at home
if only al jaffe had been there, i say
he'd set them straight in more than one way
but that one observation of yours was astute
we are all, unfortunately, way too damn cute

She Says...

No need to defend for which team you play
You dancin' machines are not really gay.
I rather enjoyed the whole dancing sight,
It made for a rip-roarin' Saturday night.

No questions here on sexuality,
In fact the opinion of little ol' me...
Is that you're all so darn cute...
That the whole point is moot
And you should all dance on happily.

He Says...(after a night of carousing)

sorry our friends like to dance that way
i'd like to assure you that we're not gay
but i can't.