I met a genius on the train today about 6 years old, he sat beside me and as the train ran down along the coast we came to the ocean and then he looked at me and said, it's not pretty.
little dark girl with kind eyes when it comes time to use the knife I won't flinch and i won't blame you, as I drive along the shore alone as the palms wave, the ugly heavy palms, as the living does not arrive as the dead do not leave, i won't blame you, instead i will remember the kisses our lips raw with love and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me, and I will remember your small room the feel of you the light in the window your records your books our morning coffee our noons our nights our bodies spilled together sleeping the tiny flowing currents immediate and forever your leg my leg your arm my arm your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again. little dark girl with kind eyes you have no knife. the knife is mine and i won't use it yet.
good weather is like good women- it doesn't always happen and when it does it doesn't always last. man is more stable: if he's bad there's more chance he'll stay that way, or if he's good he might hang on, but a woman is changed by children age diet conversation *** the moon the absence or presence of sun or good times. a woman must be nursed into subsistence by love where a man can become stronger by being hated. I am drinking tonight in Spangler's Bar and I remember the cows I once painted in Art class and they looked good they looked better than anything in here. I am drinking in Spangler's Bar wondering which to love and which to hate, but the rules are gone: I love and hate only myself- they stand outside me like an orange dropped from the table and rolling away; it's what I've got to decide: **** myself or love myself? which is the treason? where's the information coming from? books...like broken glass: I wouldn't wipe my *** with 'em yet, it's getting darker, see? (we drink here and speak to each other and seem knowing.) buy the cow with the biggest **** buy the cow with the biggest ****. present arms. the bartender slides me a beer it runs down the bar like an Olympic sprinter and the pair of pliers that is my hand stops it, lifts it, golden **** of dull temptation, I drink and stand there the weather bad for cows but my brush is ready to stroke up the green grass straw eye sadness takes me all over and I drink the beer straight down order a shot fast to give me the guts and the love to go on. from "poems written before jumping out of an 8 story window" - 1966
My chest was forged for your head to rest on Made by a blacksmith with the best intentions Your head seems light, made so by affection Which grows each time I catch your faults