Two Poems by Jay Passer

DRAWING FROM LIFE

in the back room of the old shingle factory

they draw furiously

and the model keeps running to the bathroom

to puke

and someone points out how poor the light is

someone else complains that the pose is too rigid

and yet another artiste resents that the model

is constantly running off to puke:

fuckin’ junky!

there in the dusty back room

of the old factory building

where every Thursday night

they draw furiously

as if invoking

the wrecking ball.

NOT A MORNING PERSON

I always end up

stuck in some room

with the lights off

pondering the infinite

shades of darkness

cast in a skull.

the ease in which

prone on my back

I ignore the alarm

of simply being

is enough to blind

every bird alive.

daylight slinks

through drab curtains

as I clutch for reasons

to keep up the farce

the utter travail

and insidious yearning.

I always end up

waiting for the bus

on some dirty street

sun and clouds

like the rent

hanging over my head.