these are poems from the book--"Down These Narrow Alleys: Poems & Stories".

when people ask me what the book is about (or a question i hate even more: 'what do you WRITE about?'), i only have one answer, as boring, lame or cliche as it may be at this point:  i write about life; not always my own life, but life in general.

although the book is a good deal of fiction, many of the poems ARE, in this case, my life, spilled over, exploded, (if you'll forgive me for a moment) puked onto the pages.  here's a few samples.  enjoy.

9 to 5

by Lisa LaTourette

In the confines of                                        the clock ticks closer to 5,

inane & heartless walls                            and, chewed & spit out

chained & hopeless in a                            like a piece of meat, just

politically correct                                      seconds before my soul 

ergonomic chair,                                       revolts &

my brain has been dulled                       leaves me hanging

& drilled, day after day,                          like a dead man from

like once colorful seashells                      a chandelier,

pounded by mortar & pestle                   another day finished,

into dirty gray sand.                                allowing me to ebb & flow,

The minutes are long highways,          gush home, grateful water

travelled half-asleep,                               released from a dam.

one eye open to mumble                      

glassy-eyed, funeral greetings                          copyright 2005, originally published by

to others you pass/at the coffee machine,        The Other Side of...the Ragged EDGE

all held hostage like flies

in the same sick spiderweb.

open all night

by Lisa LaTourette

i like being out at night,

coming home from a late shift at work

or just restlewss and wandering;

night people drive cabs

& know the sound of midnight rain

on the roof of the car

rhythmic & soothing as a heartbeat;

they wait tables at 3am,

their faces rusty & solid,

pour gritty dark coffee

into cracked diner cups,

make conversation with their regulars

& smoke cigarettes on their break,

staring through a newspaper

someone left on the end of the counter,

they work in hospitals,

walk silent halls,

weary & sick of smelling bleach

mingle with the funeral stench

of rotting flowers,

they empty bedpans & pray for

the first sliver of sun to turn the sky pink.

they see things that don't happen in

the light of day & something changes

in their eyes.

copyright 2005

originally published by My Favorite Bullet

bitter words

by Lisa LaTourette

words bubble over

your bitter acid tongue

repulsive & glorious hatred;

steaming fog rushing up

from your flush disgusted mouth.

violent crimson clouds

engorge my brain,

a throbbing migraine;

words spew forward

releasing rage like rain,

like delicious carbonation,

bursting forth from a champagne bottle

fizzing popping spilling

over.

copyright 2005

originally published by remark. magazine