Mother threw me away
****** me in and spit me out
The pavement still tastes like your thighs
Like bubble gum underneath the chemistry table

Where I first held hands with
Some other girl I loved
Not knowing her reaction but
We burned flowers cut with kitchen knives.

I woke up to ashes lining my breakfast
Tongue thick with Amaryllis
Thinking if God asks you my name
Say serpent,

Say hello —
A disaster of two elements
You and me
If we combined

Our neon wrists.
Does Ares care about
How I touch you, with the lights off
You tell me the walls

Already know
What I do with my wolf teeth
And your caffeinated bellybutton,
They find you in three nights.

Rebirth is not as kind
To my combusting spine, replace
Ghost sin with your birth right
Jacob’s carnage

I paid for with eyelashes,
Long glances — my dignity
Wrapped in ****** white, and impotent boy skin
Becomes a coffin.

I have been seeking a moment when
My paean would see the light
A melody when your serrated laugh
Crescendoes and obviates all evils
But what I'm truly wishing for
Is to be a scabbard to your sword
The bell that wakes you up at noon
A hymn that you know by heart
And the rituals that you adhere to
Tell me how I could shield
The furtive rhythm of your chords
To venerate the echoes of your fingertips
And be completely absorbed in your silhouette
I am proclaiming my paean
That seems five months of age
But in fact it has been decades
Trapped amongst verses and rhymes
If Hemingway was exchanging breaths
You could be his martini glass
Or the obsession of Shelley with Keats
Or maybe a beer bottle on Hank's grave
But the golden lotus has been outdated
For you are my fierce flames
To sanctify and to revive
And unlike Plath I'm living to see
When my paean would come to life



I like you
We like you
She loves you
But I don't like me
I don't know if she likes me
For I am in love with a drunken woman
I follow her trail to bars
And clubs
And the like
I always leave early because she becomes lost in the crowd
She had has a beautiful way of becoming
One with those around her.
She dances herself drunk
And drinks
And walks
Until she finds her way to my place
She drinks a little more
She kisses me goodbye
For she has a dreadful date that cannot be missed
She is as drunk as I am drunk on her
I ask her to stay with me in the doorway.

She says she'll see me at breakfast.

I regret to inform you that your lawfully, wedded boyfriend, Robert Cohn, no longer want to be lawful, wedded, or your boyfriend. He'd much rather be ******* Brett and writing books about what she tells him behind closed doors
            Sincerely,
              Jake Barnes

Grow up: airplanes aren't shooting stars.

You're beautiful yet cold, like snow.

Someday I will meet you there.

I'll be dreaming tonight..
Yes I'll be dreamin' tonight
Of a Trico hatch that's goes off like a New England snow storm
A Loaded five weight by my side, with plenty of backing to spare.

I'll be dreaming tonight
Of a Montana highway leading me back home,
Home to the Firehole bridge, a purple sky ablaze
Salmo Trutta, my brother from below

I'll be dreaming of Casting tight loops below Kilpatrick Pond,
I catch a glimpse of Ernest smiling on the bank
The Hemingway legacy lives on at Silver Creek
As we wait for the  green drake hatches to fill the air!

I'll be dreaming tonight of days gone by,
When a young boy caught his first German brown.
Neversink, you  beckon me to the days long ago
I feel the force of the river pull me from a deep sleep.

And I awaken to the thought of......Tight Lines!

I understand they find dinosaur bones there in your backyard. Big ones. I've never been to your house or even close to that neighborhood, but ever since you've written me, I am completely intrigued. What you said about me, I think about you in an execrable Hemingway way, maybe as in his "Death In The Afternoon." All the goring. Faintheartedness is nothing to be carried by bullfighters or by bone hunters, I suppose. If there were a way of going back to days of nobler more romanticized slaughtering in bullrings, without the controversy, I'd have to say it is more evident in our modern day Jurassic Park flicks where nerdish paleontologists are transformed into  fiendishly handsome toreadors.

I know I'm not making much sense. Bullfights and dinosaur rustling, what's to compare? One being non-civilized though colorful and bathetic, the other fantastical but forgivable because the beasts bite back. Oh, if only I could explain these machismo machinations. What a ruse. How song and dance does intrigue. Please write me again from South Dakota. I'd like to book one of those dusty dinosaur tours before I go extinct.  Bone hunts, bullfights, same difference.

i missed you, but not anymore