I am writing about the hunt.
I am writing about dream-state sensory disasters
I am writing about the fourth woman who told me she loved me.
And I am writing about being fucked in a shower by an ex-lover, only I am the lover, and the lover is me.
But at this very moment, I am writing about something else:
I have a friend who sent me a collection of poems in the mail
even though we are practically neighbors
I have another friend who got a story accepted for publication
and it seems I was the first person he saw after he got the news
I brought two shot glasses and a bottle of Chivas to his apartment,
all gifts from wonderful people who love me in different ways
I thought to share their gifts would be to continue a positive pattern
and I am quite glad I did,
as taking shots of decent scotch
is rather decadent, indeed.
I must be clear,
these are platonic relationships,
and I must not forget
another friend, older still,
who brings me poems at the bar.
I am ever appreciative of the creative souls who think I am worthy of their words
or their paint or their songs
Whether I am merely a recipient of their art
or a part of it.
Thoughts today... maybe sometimes you feel this shit too...
I don't pretend to understand life,
or my place in it
I can't figure out
if the pretty girls who call me
are interested
I can't figure out
what I'll wear tomorrow
I can't figure you
how to spell words
I've never seen written
I can't figure out
how to sleep comfortably
I can't figure out
very much at all
---
I am writing about dream-state sensory disasters
I am writing about the fourth woman who told me she loved me.
And I am writing about being fucked in a shower by an ex-lover, only I am the lover, and the lover is me.
But at this very moment, I am writing about something else:
I have a friend who sent me a collection of poems in the mail
even though we are practically neighbors
I have another friend who got a story accepted for publication
and it seems I was the first person he saw after he got the news
I brought two shot glasses and a bottle of Chivas to his apartment,
all gifts from wonderful people who love me in different ways
I thought to share their gifts would be to continue a positive pattern
and I am quite glad I did,
as taking shots of decent scotch
is rather decadent, indeed.
I must be clear,
these are platonic relationships,
and I must not forget
another friend, older still,
who brings me poems at the bar.
I am ever appreciative of the creative souls who think I am worthy of their words
or their paint or their songs
Whether I am merely a recipient of their art
or a part of it.
Thoughts today... maybe sometimes you feel this shit too...
I don't pretend to understand life,
or my place in it
I can't figure out
if the pretty girls who call me
are interested
I can't figure out
what I'll wear tomorrow
I can't figure you
how to spell words
I've never seen written
I can't figure out
how to sleep comfortably
I can't figure out
very much at all
---
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
chazgasm:
I look forward to you finding an apartment so I can crash with you and drink at this bar of yours and hang with all the lovely ladies I know up there. I may even write drunken napkin poems for you
jaeci:
Drunken napkin poems are a requirement if you think you are going to be a house guest.