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I hung on her laughter my bad jokes kind of filled the void between us.
Like a fog of ciggertte smoke that cast its illusion over the room I sat as we spoke over the phone.

My drinks flowed and my words slurred .
She hung on the line.
The best kind always do.

It was the simple flirts that keep the soul young and the liver well its a sad customer to begin with on my side.

I imagined are time together in person.
And she shook her head , Wondering was there more beyond the train wreck of a person on the other end of the line.


I poured another .

"You should probably slow down don't you think?'

"Yeah probably but with company like your's sweetheart who would ever want the night to end".

She laughed .
"Your so full of **** ".

"Tell me something I don't know sweetheart".

Even when I was drunk I was a first class ******* artist.
And a grade a smart ***.

I kept her laughing and although she would't admit she was having fun.

She was tired though and me I  was a night owl besides I was never eager to face the silence of a long night ahead.

"I'm so tired lets go to bed"
She said half asleep not realizing the words she had spoken.

"Why darling I thought you'd never ask "

She busted up laughing .
"You know what I meant good Lord your just gonna have a heyday with that one aren't you"?

"Oh now sweetheart would I ever give you **** bout a simple slip like that"?

"You ****** I bet you write about me saying that you watch"

I pretended to be mildly insulted joking the whole time.

"Me exploit something said in the  privacy of are personal conversation darling"

"I'm shocked you would ever think I could sink so low ".

"Goodnight John".

She said said as she hung up the phone and the warmth I felt just turned a tad bit colder as I faced yet the rest of my night alone.


Be careful what you say to writers.
The red light in my minds always recording.

And this rose is for you my dear.

Sincerely your favorite fiend

John
I've had a great deal of success with publishing as of late and I owe a great deal to the person whom this write is based on.

Thank you Tracey.

Are secrets are always kinda safe with me .

Cheers .
A trickle of time
melts its way down
a mountain of perhaps.
Other trickles
from others' potentials
merge and mingle;
become a stream
which grows as it gathers.
Soon, soon,
time no longer
is guided by stone
but carves it,
carves unwilling rock
into fissures.
Earth itself is rent
by what might have been;
time gathers the debris
and carries it downstream,
deep and slow and wide.
The canyon it cut
is deep and wide as well,
and twists and turns
with branches and dead ends.
Our lives are but a shout into the void,
echoes which carry and fade
along canyon walls,
unless and until
an ear downstream
might hear them.
Perhaps they will;
perhaps not.
The river and canyon both
are fickle;
hold their secrets close.
The only potential
once here

is to shout
until no voice is left.
Thanks to an old friend, Harry Weyer, who sent pictures of the Grand Canyon.  His pictures took me with him.  

Pray I might be faithful to my own words.
Humid nights
Frosty days
Drunken fights
Toxic haze
Stifling air
Not fit for breathing
Two trapped souls
Intent on leaving
Long since gone
Our glory days
Now broken shells
Just Parting ways
My life it needs a makeover
It's become as dull as grey
But my lack of drive and vision
Is getting in the way

I seek out toys to fill the voids
That occupy my soul
To fill the huge expanse
To remove this gaping hole

But my lack of drive overwhelms me
And the voids they do not fill
My heart has lost its rhythm
And it's beat has slowed to still

Dark clouds they do not leave me
They smother all joy and hope
I start to wonder how it would feel
If i dangled from a rope

But that would only transfer my pain
And pass it on to others
My beautiful daughter
My grandkids
My sisters and my brothers

So i need a spark to light the dark
And guide me on my way
To give me back the life i lost
That day you went away
The room was filled with freak ******'s and other assorted nut jobs and then there were the folks that weren't writers.

It was a poetry reading open mic deal yeah what a wild party this was going to be but being the best of the best from Hello were supposed to be there I figured my invitation must have got lost in the mail.

You know what that is kids.
See before the net you actually had to get off your lazy **** to mail a letter yeah I know how ****** up is that?
It's almost like music where you actually play instruments  to enjoy instead of steal a loop from one of your parents records yeah don't pretend you understand that one if you under the age of thirty .

But enough with the foreplay children .
The room was packed the poets ready and as I took my seat I was shocked to find they wouldn't be serving ***** at this snooze fest .
Probably a good idea cause after teen age Timmy read his ode to his two day relationship we would all probably slip into a coma .

No worries much like batman but not as gay.
, I always had my trusty utility belt I'm kidding I just had a flask what kind of freak do you think I am?, Okay don't answer that one hamsters.

So after ordering a coffee and adding a little ******* tonic  I sat back and waited to listen to the young crop of writers read there poetry eager to take it all in yeah, right I did as always sat back and waited to
heckle the **** out of everyone hit on the waitress and generally be known as the loveable poetic areshole  of the site.

The time flew.
If by that you mean the time dragged on like we were being ear ***** by a duet between Justin Bieber    and Selna  Gomez .
It was brutal I tell you but the tide was about to make a turn for the better .

As the MC  for the event announced we have a special guest in the crowd tonight and hopefully with a round of applause we can get him to do a reading for us folks give a warm round of applause for .

I jumped to the stage the truly poetic ego maniac ***** eager to save the day or at least give it a good kick in the *** there's only so much
you can listen to of this yuppy ***** before you go insane hamsters .

The woman must have been in shock being in the presence of the greatest co writer in Hello history .
For she looked at me like she had no clue who the hell I was .

Um sir do you mind getting off the stage we are getting ready to ask Joel M Frye  to the stage.
Joel ?

Yeah sure he's a great writer and can spell and his farts smell of cinnamon and pier one or at least I have herd.
But do you have no idea of who I am woman?

She looked at me with a mix of sympathy and probably thinking I wonder if the institution knows he's escaped ?
Umm no sir sorry I don't have a clue.

I had to take in consideration this poor women probably had a smaller brain than the genius that stood before her .
I am Gonzo my sweet lady I said really slow so she could understand
cause she had a smaller brain I'm not saying that cause she was a woman so don't get all *** crazy on me sisters cause you know Gonzo loves you all like a perverted uncle .

Gonzo where have I herd that name oh yeah I know you I thought you died ?
What duh I'm standing here aren't I?

Wait a minute maybe I'm a ******* zombie **** I hate to think I'm one of those walking dead ******* although I have had *** with some ladies I swear could pass for a zombie course that was probably just the drugs I slipped them hey don't judge  I'm kidding I would never do that I do what every true gentleman does when in need.
Pick up hookers .

Hey John Joel said as he slipped up behind me like some poetic ninja .

Joel amigo how the hell are you please do me a favor and explain to this woman just who I am I mean really yeah it's like they don't know how kick **** I am .

Well Gonz maybe I can talk them into letting you do a reading .
Look this guys totally ******* nuts okay so bare with me Joel
whispered to the mc lady  who's smaller brain was truly annoying the **** out of me.

Gonz let me just work this out okay buddy .
I began to object then Joel pulled a truly ***** trick by handing
me the most recent issue of hustler magazine  .
From what I herd it had a great article in it yeah right you have to admire **** that doesn't pretend to be nothing more than what it truly is kind of like me  .  

The woman and Joel spoke for some time and I assume she had seen the error of her ways as she laughed and shook her head oh that Joel he is a charmer.

I  was almost halfway through the ****** hunt  section when .
Joel appeared again like some magical poetic ninja slash friendly dragon .

Gonz man I pulled some strings and after I do a reading your going to close the show hell I even got you your own dressing room and everything figured you'd like to warm up a bit or at least not ******* in front of everyone it's getting a bit awkward I'm just saying bud.

I had to admit Joel was a true friend and as I was shown to the back dressing room it truly tugged at that lump of coal I called a heart to know I still had a true friend on the site I could trust .

Okay here's your dressing room Mr Gonzo it must be a awesome one I thought to myself for it had a big red sign above the door man they truly went all out for me .

But much like when I learned where babies come from my delusion was soon broken in half yeah I always thought they came from dumpsters like I did.

I was standing in a alley ***** cold there were no drinks or hot chicks with there ******* out as I had been promised .
****** man I was starting to believe I had been tricked.

I quickly made my way to the front of the club to tell Joel what these ******* had done !.
But the doors were locked man poor Joel they have trapped him inside
anything could be happening I sure hope he wasn't being ***** .

I banged on the door but couldn't see anything for the lights were off
it's like the people inside were avoiding me like most my friends .

Hey I know your in there open up you *******! .
Woman with the small brain I called out.
Please if you can here me please get Joel out of there he's to good to be tarnished by your terrible readings or *****  cause that's not funny haha yes it is I'm so demented.

I sat there for what felt like ages .
and after five minutes I had to give up Joel was lost to the poetic **** inside ****** man so many good writers have been lost to such lures as these coffee shop readings.

I made my way to the local bar heartbroken seems there was no love for Mr Gonzo left in this town  .
I ordered a double and drank one to my friend who probably is reading this and thinking what the **** am I on this time .

Well it's mix of speed and bourbon but I'm  taking it a bit easy these days .

Dam you!, poetry coffee house readings you have taken far to many of my friends .
I drown my sorrows and passed out as usual and thanked the lord I had escaped with my life and Joel's **** mag I will treasure it forever my friend.

Until next time
Stay crazy kids .

Gonzo
Hello My name is Gonzo and everyday somewhere in the world a terrible open mic poetry reading claims yet another great writer .
If you know someone thinking about going to one of these events reach out and help them before it's to late
exactly one day and a lifetime ago
you stood before me with your lips hung ajar
awaiting my kiss, with you eyes lidded low

at the age of eighteen how'd we possibly know
one moment could reach so impossibly far
exactly one day and a lifetime ago

if i knocked and walked in and recaptured the glow
of our love in your heart, it would not have been hard
awaiting my kiss with your eyes lidded low

one kiss in one heartbeat would alter the flow
of our lives, of our dreams, what we were, what we are
exactly one day and a lifetime ago

we meet again, smiling a pleasant hello
you lean in and offer a cheek from afar
awaiting my kiss, with your eyes lidded low

One universe over I kissed you, and so
you took my hand.  I drove you home in my car
exactly one day and a lifetime ago,
awaiting my kiss with your eyes lidded low.
What do I say?  In another universe, we've had a lifetime together.
How do you articulate
the sweet taste of a baby's toes,
a pink rose at sunrise,
the way a hawk flies
on the blue sky of morning?

It's not easy to describe
the color of your mother's eyes
or tears shed in the fading light
of December's dying embers.

How can you say I love
and make it mean something
more than the words carved
in a heart on a wooden desk
a long **** time ago?

When I know, I'll be a poet.
Until then, I'm blowing smoke
and sipping coffee while my dog
lifts her nose to another day.
It's on them nights I drink alone. Find myself thinking of home. These beers bottle bones empty and shatter. Liquor lung sigh. Chest heavy like a white trash wind chime. Like a six pack of bud ice hanging from some fishing line. Hear them low notes bouncing of the lips in the wind. And maybe you worry, but ****, I'm fine to drive. And on those days when my gut isn't a gas tank for beer refilling at a pity party pit stop, I drive on love. Write love poems on phones before the ***** knocks me out. And sure, maybe my love makes as much sense as the words I slurr. And maybe my love is as unique as the crackheads needle in the haystack, but I'll still love you serious as a heart attack. Like a stroke... of genius... an epiphany about the realness of God. That maybe the story is flawed, but you're welcome to believe. And maybe I'm drunk right now, but I never meant to deceive. So kiss me with your break lights, while a pray to the slow light that I can live life like an old man feeding birds on a bench in the park. Got nothing else on his mind... just love... you maybe. And whatever you might think. I promise. I'm fine to drive
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