judging you by Cindy Press
Art by Cindy Press Poetry by Michel Fuseau
why not
I am a cocksmith
A wordman
Rubbing the sleep out of my eye
Rubbing out the vision
Drag it and drop it
Choke it down
Munch on blue pills without water
It’s fair to say
Life is rationed out
One drop at a time
Three times daily
White-robed pharmacists
are my best friends
An exaltation of narcs
with a genius for the perverse
they know how to handle me
as I know how to handle them
El gringo drogado
He who has over-the-counter hard-ons
For all those bottles and boxes
Labels rolling their R’s
Behind them
I want 30 at a time
Any elevator going down
Gimme gimme gimme
Stuff it down
Like the food I’m supposed to eat
30 at a time
In bright equatorial daylight no less
On benches
In buses
With witnesses
Popping the blister packs
Like seed pods, holding tiny white
Restorations to my vitals
Trying not to drop a single pastilla
But the vitality is gone
The energy is chemically induced
I am a human oven
Stuffing everything inside
Chasing it down with firmly packed pills
A million billion pillion trillion
Megagrams of
The ability to love
And be loved
Is not measured in dosage
Let the liver deal with it
Let the pancreas melt
Let the kidneys donate themselves
To someone needier than me
Cram my need into that oven
Don’t mention it
Hide in hovels
Among the dust and crowing cocks
I’m a one-eyed man watching
Three-legged stray dogs
Rolling downhill in a fighting ball of mange
Gathering fifty cents just to see my kid
Three buses
Fifty Indians
Four panic attacks
And I’m too sick to
Jump on trampolines with her
It sucks to be afraid of heights
And live in a city at 8000 feet
Quit in Quit-o
Learn to hate it
Like my father hated it
Beaten and orphaned
Fleeing his birthplace
It backfired for me:
Every few years
I tried to leave the States
And always wound up coming back
Now I’m stuck here
A fugitive with minor charges
Harmless to all save myself
But saving myself is like swimming
To a distant shore
When you’ve forgotten how to row
And the boat’s already on the bottom
And you’ve swallowed all the life savers
A failure to appear,
I have learned to survive everything
But not live, not life, not living
Not on this thin Third World mattress
Not in this Spanish colonial flat
Not a bathroom down the hall
With a black light bulb
Purple when you shitCramped in near darkness
Dropping a black pickle
A black joke
Not with a cold shower downstairs
In the courtyard
Not my ass in full view of the
Silent wordless Incas
That are my neighbors
Not showing my ass
Not shivering once a week
As I learned,
But not live
Not life
Not living
I’ve cut down on my bathing
My socks are ancient relics
Weapons of mass revulsion
If you’ve walked an entire day
Without giving or receiving
An entire word
You have plunged into the volcano
Of void
Ecuadorian emptiness

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Intimidated by Cindy Press
Intimidated by Cindy Press


I ride a thousand buses
I hide behind my shades
One eye gone, plasticized
And the other hanging by a thread
I get a lot of floaters, obstacles
Vertigo, clumsiness
Slower to respond to so-called
Visual stimuli
Avoiding open manholes
But whatever god is out there
Gave me, left me
Endowed me
Graced me
With radar eye for the
Female sex
You could call me a connoisseur of the female form
An admirer of women
But I’m a voyeur
A creeping peeper
A peeping creeper
A horny old man
A rake, a rogue, a rascal
With a soul drooling
Aboard this poor man’s ship
They are all a variety of gardens
Knowing and not knowing
Exactly what they emanate
What they do
If they look at me I’m the Fourth of July
I have taken a vow
Not to try for one
Until I have more than two cents
In my pocket
A room of my own
And more than one pair of jeans
I am chaste
It’s been four months
But hey
Once I went for two and a half years
Without a woman
So I’m well-acquainted
with the art of self-abuse
(Maybe you DO go blind
If you whack off)
If these sunglasses were cameras
I’d have a million albums
Of faces, the napes of necks
Bare arms on their way to the beach
Flowing hair tied back or freed
The sides of breasts
Peeking out from sleeveless T’s
The deep valley of bliss
When they bend over for their bags or babies
Legs walking
Boarding the 52 North
Bent, like me,
At the knee to take a seat
I can see the flare of their hips
And their ass for those five seconds
Of seating
If I want to ignore the
Stretch marks, the postpartum pooch
The over-freckled cleavage
I can just take off my coke-bottle specs
And they all become beautiful
Impressionist paintings
Blurred just so
To perfection
judging you by Cindy Press
judging you by Cindy Press
See more artwork from Cindy Press at cindypress.com
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Global artists and writers dedicated to sharing creativity around the world.

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