Two Poems by Chris Franz


Dressed to the toe
So people look
Let them look
Can’t tell if they’re impressed
Hope it turns you on.

All who wonder will lust
This wonder,
Of impending pressure
On a house of discontent
And the dress on your habeas corpus
Let the lost eyes wander ‘til they’re caught.
To not be charged till the touch.
Seconds are not choice
But one man’s treasure
Is another man with similar tastes venture.
Capital T, Treason
Anything less wouldn’t be quite grammatical

Don’t mind my stuttering
It means you’ve tied my tongue
with the idea of yours.


Again I shall call myself out.
Let it be on record & shitty reference:

Discretion be damned.
I can hold my drink,
that’s what I’m here to show.


(like that
“habeas corpus” line.
which loses depth
when you truly know .)

you drew a tiny robot.
I drew one, worse

Handed a sharpie,
left my mark on your coffee table.

And yours are clearly better
Mine born hush on a syllabus out of boredom
& transparent flirtation.

You’ll be defended in a diner
the next morning.
by a friend who wouldn’t be
if he found the page titled Her.
falling from my notebook.

This is my nocturnal admission
Before the fire station is a street sign
with your name that
precedes a second with a
misspelled music school
where another name I’d like to
have you etch out on my shoulder

A phone full of
unfinished Bettys
in this less than
Norman Rockwell life

Profile: Chris Franz