quasi_sean

how difficult to write

as she watches me i'm hunched over, scribbling odes to her beauty.

my diary-love has no use for me as a sober wannabe artist.

i think in moments. the jukebox spits Sinatra from one end of the alcohol cocoon to the other. pisses off the pool players and faux-gangsters who are defined only by the music around them and suddenly they...
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my autopsy will show signs of a struggle. diseased liver and failed kidneys lungs like wilted burned charcoal that sits in the bottom of a grill until they are useless bad vision and obesity and cracks in the heart sewed back together with threads of compliments and crushes and antibiotics stomach full of various pills some happier sadder sleepier wakeyouthefuckup i'm trying you see...there are...
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where the lucky folks begin to applaud in the showers and chewing soap until their teeth burn and fire fire fire....

last
chance
ever...

wish me luck
and be so kind
as to follow
where the trail ends up
and see it dissolve
near the corner

oh weeping
lucky dreams
save meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

if i'm beautiful
there will be a way
to find me
in the...
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one more heart
is sitting alone
in a block
spitting up the
solution to apathy
in a bubble
& it left
the insane tomorrow

you're speaking
in those adorable
riddles
that leave your lips
w/one last glance
over their shoulder

running shivers
as i sweat
thru the bottles
hoping to
find
an excuse
to smile

and you
like the angel
having discovered
my brain
and...
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a confession, much like a whiskey burn....

arrive at bar at 9:30 p.m. order first drink. down it, go across the street for cigarettes, return, and order another. talk to owner of bar for a couple of minutes. make the rounds and shake hands with the regulars. comment on how young one looks after he has shaved. smile at his displeasure after receiving this news....
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we fucked in love for days
when days were smaller
and the morning after
shined simplicity
on our already
frozen smiles

you held the wine
in one slender hand
and poured fuel
to our fire

when the sheets curled
to the ceiling
lost example
of true romance
in the storybook
could never capture
what i feel for you now

and when the music stops
the...
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teh lovely poem written hunched over a bar.....

unbalanced
oblivion
& the opening
of the world
to despair

I saw
twelve deliveries
of disaster
roaming
the majestic hall
of disguise

I cannot accept
the poetry as
promise
w/out time to
indulge fantasies
of nothing

the pagoda
is a collection
of memories
that
reflect
a disease
smile
melancholy girl
& the memories are--

oh, the lonely...
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no perfect world to be imagined thru out the time i spent admiring the walls of the afterglow in minutes i will become something better while the earth moves on past me i would be content to sit in the coffin breathing laughter among the willing and the lost w/out a blanket to hold on to i smoke ten cigarettes together and think of poems...
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it's a cold motel in December...

there were good times littered thru out this life--times that glowed and i floated thru my days euphoric and everything beneath the galaxy was possible no distortions allowed only hope that was pure and virginal and defined a child's dreams. there we sat together, cudding near tombstones or swimming careless in the river--

and the mountains.
they lurk w/smiles....
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search my matchbooks when i'm gone or discover these on postcards from the shore.

01
you stuttered in your steps
make twisted like my sun
has become
in this summer
will plague me forever

02
perhaps there are reasons for insanity shockwaves that fuck me and smile in frozen prose. here are the stars, my dear... do what you will.

03
if you leave me...
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can you see me thru those foggy eyes to tell me you love me and wake me up when it's all over and the last bit of beer is gone from our mouths and w/cotton laughter we speak of how great it could be when we were together and no matter of the plans of the summer i'll speak thru a hazy wine glass in...
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the moon calls you an appetite that is insatiable and you're calling me from a phone booth, disguised, taped off for the utmost privacy the door has closed and the injuries are buried for forever---

the phone rang and what picked it up was a hand connected to nothing.

"Hello?"

"It's about that time for answers."

So I went off to the desert, acid wet-dreams...
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