the poetry that matters

brian prince

brian prince is an art director in southern California. previously published on the now-non-exisitng-Skitzo-Lit online zine as well as the first issue of Eviserator Heaven.


like a man
i packed tobacco
into my pipe but
i don't own a yellow hat

in Shadowlands
C.S. Lewis told me
marriage is for life and
i never forgot that

i struck fire
from a Sahara Club
that Carissa gave me
back in '98

she took her clothes off
for a living but i didn't
meet her that way

we used to drink
newcastles, smoke
menthols and walk
Newport's back bay

we laughed
a lot
and did drugs
at raves

i used to tell her
"when i make it
i will take care
of you everyday."

i never made it
and tonight
i cleared
my pipe with

one hit

one match

one woman


man in a wheelchair.

the classic. defines his essence.
has class but wears slip-on airwalks with a corduroy finish.
he is the un-official fragrance of California.

the blend. defines his unique musk.
creates his own signature scent. the aroma of lust.
he's there. but not in the center.

the freshest. defines his presence.
casually sensual, yet professionally down-to-business.
his look. that stare. hearts he hypnotizes.

the drift. defines his confidence.
distinctively driven. to be assertive, yet ever so cleverly subtle.
she loves it. he knows the ingredients.

the scent. citrus and verbena.
'herbal' with a dry-down of jasmine and thyme.
bound to a hint of petuna's hide.

the content. 12% oil blend for a compelling long last.
that won't overpower the girl who's time is spent basking
in another place. the great lakes.

the dirt. front row parking.
richness of the earth. fresh sea. warm sun.
acqua di gio. gendarme.

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