i think why not to let but proved the query set a double somersault-twist or kiss your sweet lips..
can end in cold death- still the birds in the trees go cheep or not at all.. i have reason to not question..
ii
i have memories return from the crib it is all just part of the aging process we beetle by saying that can´t be right the lights´ get bright and bright..!
birds talk to us but i don´t hear voices we become preoccupied with prices.. i recall four blackjacks a penny dying has a long curious way..
i am pretty sure i am someone else absolute and completely and yet these early feelings as blithe pictures remain constant..
iii
more work less ******* about but creation is just living some absolute and indistinct (it is tough being a poet..)..
iv
lily says,for it is her, you don´t play no more, only i say in mind the years don´t lie content´ s fragile store.. repetition dulls the brightest core..eventually a silent purr ask´ s why not why not..
v
why write poetry says lily because it is a futile act of achieving something perfectly.. we like that..
or like stubbing one´ s little toe a rabbit from a dream hat in a vain effort to retain what remains of my memory..
lily why not or why bother.. lily red diamond from her eyes sparking like a star is just a ******* star baby..
she half nelson bottle wine why do anything..a sign a metaphor an hieroglyph love and hate lily..
or the little bird in the agaves i would like to shoot that one hate and love lily porquoi-pas..
vi
i read o twenty years before actually commiting to paper not much but i knew the stuff i loved and kept there i know it was charles bukowski i loved his funky gear thank you norwegion liz for lending me his books dear..
ham on rye and factotum you say don´t lose them mf i swore i would not lose them i would not lose them kf kind friend..but i lost them i lost them..df.. dumb ******..
i leant them to someone that swore the same they suffered an horrendous head..crang.. on and the books lost the books got lost.. there was scant satisfaction in plaster form..
maybe they went to a happy home so not my fault that his drunk poems god is he fun liz i hear your laugh then such a wild sound ..generous so!
you said i should write and thank you only human to encourage me true and always a good drinking companion you bought decent wine..
i adored cognac o..that was my poison you always attracted van gelis errant tounge unpleasant but one had to watch him.. that was his fun..
and then backgammon goes a bit faint then.. i would like to say i won you told me roland was cheating..
i think it was fun to play him anyway esspicially on cement truck day.. not that he ever bought me a drink not that i liked cement..
i lived with roland actually this stopped any conversation i met him by accident in eilat that place was a laugh..
i think i enjoyed the second time first loads of day jobs though i played in the streets..and living with the russians..
that a blast lily..my immediate neighbor we never spoke..and the police pulled his hair and yet not a squeak..a match box of grass cheap i went to silently get a light..
he did say never run boy.. i thought alright for you alright, who was playing late night in the soft quiet night..
so i was nosy within the deepest hush a glass and bottle jungle impossible this silence
and i could hear him swallow once the army ran through i was tucked up in bead reading by hopeless candle light..
i met roland in the peace cafe a misnomer if ever there was he picked me up and tossed me around..
hey mike we got ****** and under the landing planes roaring down aint had hash like that in so many years..
there was the red lion and at seven free food and a drink and a movie i read miguel cervantes..they play the eye of the tiger later..
then the hard rock cafe with killer egg and chips i worked with an architect and made a few shekals.
vii
i got out of there man i went south dhab a quiet hut and goats.. that is the life right there.. o the corral beauties..
the stars as glimpsed through the palm.. pretty carpet and soften-songs of balm brain blown and fly blown and then back to town..
which came as a shock then i had a drink and a very nice mention for the cafe at the bus station.. i salut the the patience of the librarians..