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Well, my daddy left home when I was three,
and he didn't leave much to Ma and me,
just this old guitar and a bottle of *****.
Now I don't blame him because he run and hid,
but the meanest thing that he ever did was
before he left he went and named me Sue.

Well, he must have thought it was quite a joke,
and it got lots of laughs from a lot of folks,
it seems I had to fight my whole life through.
Some gal would giggle and I'd get red
and some guy would laugh and I'd bust his head,
I tell you, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue.

Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean.
My fist got hard and my wits got keen.
Roamed from town to town to hide my shame,
but I made me a vow to the moon and the stars,
I'd search the ***** tonks and bars and ****
that man that gave me that awful name.

But it was Gatlinburg in mid July and I had
just hit town and my throat was dry.
I'd thought i'd stop and have myself a brew.
At an old saloon in a street of mud
and at a table dealing stud sat the *****,
mangy dog that named me Sue.

Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad
from a worn-out picture that my mother had
and I knew the scar on his cheek and his evil eye.
He was big and bent and gray and old
and I looked at him and my blood ran cold,
and I said, "My name is Sue. How do you do?
Now you're gonna die." Yeah, that's what I told him.

Well, I hit him right between the eyes and he went down
but to my surprise he came up with a knife
and cut off a piece of my ear. But I busted a chair
right across his teeth. And we crashed through
the wall and into the street kicking and a-gouging
in the mud and the blood and the beer.

I tell you I've fought tougher men but I really can't remember when.
He kicked like a mule and bit like a crocodile.
I heard him laughin' and then I heard him cussin',
he went for his gun and I pulled mine first.
He stood there looking at me and I saw him smile.

And he said, "Son, this world is rough and if
a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough
and I knew I wouldn't be there to help you along.
So I gave you that name and I said 'Goodbye'.
I knew you'd have to get tough or die. And it's
that name that helped to make you strong."

Yeah, he said, "Now you have just fought one
helluva fight, and I know you hate me and you've
got the right to **** me now and I wouldn't blame you
if you do. But you ought to thank me
before I die for the gravel in your guts and the spit
in your eye because I'm the nut that named you Sue."
Yeah, what could I do? What could I do?

I got all choked up and I threw down my gun,
called him pa and he called me a son,
and I came away with a different point of view
and I think about him now and then.
Every time I tried, every time I win and if I
ever have a son I think I am gonna name him
Bill or George - anything but Sue.
the lady has me temporarily off the bottle
and now the pecker stands up
better.
however, things change overnight--
instead of listening to Shostakovich and
Mozart through a smeared haze of smoke
the nights change, new
complexities:
we drive to Baskin-Robbins,
31 flavors:
Rocky Road, Bubble Gum, Apricot Ice, Strawberry
Cheesecake, Chocolate Mint...

we park outside and look at icecream
people
a very healthy and satisfied people,
nary a potential suicide in sight
(they probably even vote)
and I tell her
"what if the boys saw me go in there? suppose they
find out I'm going in for a walnut peach sundae?"
"come on, chicken," she laughs and we go in
and stand with the icecream people.
none of them are cursing or threatening
the clerks.
there seem to be no hangovers or
grievances.
I am alarmed at the placid and calm wave
that flows about. I feel like a ***** in a
beauty contest. we finally get our sundaes and
sit in the car and eat them.

I must admit they are quite good. a curious new
world. (all my friends tell me I am looking
better. "you're looking good, man, we thought you
were going to die there for a while...")
--those 4,500 dark nights, the jails, the
hospitals...

and later that night
there is use for the pecker, use for
love, and it is glorious,
long and true,
and afterwards we speak of easy things;
our heads by the open window with the moonlight
looking through, we sleep in each other's
arms.

the icecream people make me feel good,
inside and out.
Call a                          doctor/ plumber/ priest
My heart is               broken/ leaking/ deceased

My life is                   worthless/ so much better/ over
I'm going to              **** myself/ tell your wife/ Dover

How could you         leave me/ not know/ lie?
I hope you                return my stuff/ come back/ die

I'll never                   forget you/ forgive you/ go away
I need                        closure/ a DNA test/ to tell you I'm gay

Your                           face/ crotch/ top of your back
Is                                so beautiful/ lumpy/ unusually slack

Your                           ex/ mother/ best friend from school
Always made me      great coffee/ feel inadequate/ drool

I will                           miss you/ **** you/ stalk you forever
That way we can      be friends/ get away with it/ be together

I'm sorry                   you did this/ I did this /we failed
I promise to               pay you/ dye it back/ get you bailed
Please don't               leave me/ show the Polaroids/ write or call


(*delete as appropriate, just delete it all.....)
Touch me,
it doesn't matter where
and it doesnt matter how
I need to know I'm still alive
so someone touch me now
Shake my hand and say hello
or pat me on the back
kiss me on the cheek
that I may feel this sense I lack
slap my face and pull my hair
make me bleed I just don't care
dig your nails into my skin
so I can feed this need within
I've been numb for such a time
that even pain would be sublime
so touch me, touch me now
I don't care where, I don't care how
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
http://twitter.com/athomashawkins
She heard it when she left the room
That held them in like a murky tomb
And forced them to a painful crippled state.
He wailed aloud
Like a lonely child
A hungry and a desperate, “How I need you!”

That simple phrase
Was all it took
To make her raise
Her head and look.

In the middle of the room he stood.
His eyes said all they ever could.
They were pained and needed somewhere to cling.
With strength at last
She whispered fast
A careful and a trembling, “I need you too.”
I like you in purple,
purple flower fields
We're safe in our meadow,
but they're nipping at our heels

I like you in blue,
blue swirling monsoons
Just think of happy thoughts:
puppies, kiwis and raccoons

I like you in yellow,
yellow playground slides
It's too hot in here,
but it's a place to hide

I like you in green,
green stalks of bamboo.
Puffs of smoke and pocket change,
help me lace my shoes

I like you in red,
red blankets by the river
twilight, moonlight, Starlight,
waking up with shivers

I like you in purple,
purple lazy sighs
Sleepyheads with heavy limbs
and guilty, smiling eyes
Copyright Kinsey Clark
I've got a glass of wine in one hand, while I'm trying to keep my balance, as I take my socks off with the other. I stumble, and land abruptly on my bed. Half a glass of Merlot sloshes onto my cream colored cloth sheets and I slur some sounds, shooting for '****' and '****'.

Lily takes her heels off downstairs and creeps up to my room; she moves easily, as if hovering a few inches above the ground as to not let a single sound reach my bludgeoned ears until she laid down beside me. As she began to loosen my tie she pecked softly at every inch of my newly exposed neck, tender, and begging.
My eyes flutter as she whispers,or whimpers (I can't tell)

I know no one's perfect,
but why do you gotta act so far from it?
Jesuit, you're desolate, but I don't know
where I'm going, and I'm slowly dying.

I know that we make
bad choices in mates and you're a mistake,
but I'm lost as to what the cost might be
because right now you're so good for me

and I think I can carry that weight.


Lily,
I've learned a great deal about love and languages tonight.
Just barely masked by metaphor, I couldn't think of a more cliche
way of saying I love you.
To construct a consistent
world view, a chore more
than anything else, really.

I don't know if you're right,
I don't care if I'm wrong,
keep singing this song,

ba da dum, ba da dum,
ba da dumb
dumb
dumb!


Young, lover of fiction,
dont force it.

You don't need a dictionary
to write a poem.
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