my dear
yours is the slowest public suicide
i’ve ever seen
your being and nothingness
spewing sartre
now be a good roman
and fall on your sword
lest i be tempted
to send you a pig wearing fishnets
and proclaim it performance art
Tag: fame
anything for love
candy darling
you can keep your winning hand, she said
lou reed’s wild side
sucked in and on by warhol
then discarded like kleenex
tennessee williams and small craft warnings
all pancake white
eyeliner
red lipstick
fantasy ziegfeld
horse estrogen junky
almost dead
in the diplomat hotel
with cancer coming with your favorite flowers for a visit
the show
the fans
the applause
meant nothing
because you weren’t there
so i used the word
fuck
too often
he places his guitar
in it’s case
the rightful place
beside him
when his set is done
then walks through his applause
and the fourth wall oblivion
of stage lights
toward my table
and the way my skirt
thinks it a shame
to cover my thigh highs
his chair pulled
too intimately close to mine
for the comfort of groupies present
leaning into me saying,
“You vex me, woman…”
his 21-gun
how do you do
i stroke a single finger
along the rim of his fedora
purring,
“I’m trying my damnedest…”
i may not be drunk enough to write this
but as you know
where
we
afflicted with the pen
are concerned
there comes a point
you no longer have a choice
that time came tonight
when the music came on all by itself
a ghostly moment alone in the dining room
when lou reed’s voice began to sing
turn to me
from an untouched stereo
the depth of your sadness overwhelmed me
and i felt myself failing you so
i must resist every possible cliche when i say
you punk son of a bitch
stop
counting your curses
the past is indestructible
i’m glad you never made it
i’m happy your kick ass band
was looking east
as culture crawled west
because you would be dead now
and i never would have known you
i wouldn’t have kept writing
and i’d be long gone too
when i consider all that you are
it staggers me to think
how many beautiful things
wouldn’t exist