aayoungyou’re a tired cliche
impoverished poet
that bullshit doesn’t fly
once you pass age 30
it ceases to be chic
as irresponsibility is your only luxury
and i’m not sorry
i wouldn’t let you invade my home
to squat in my basement
to write the same poems
about sodomy and pepsi
you were writing six years ago
with a pen
covered in chicken grease
never fear
there will always be
gullible people willing to share
their food stamps
with the legend
you never lived up to
such grand gestures
of morning after guilt
you are capable of
buying every seat in the stadium
reserved for your bent knee apology
hindenburg full of flammable gas
floating overhead
scrolling about
how sorry
how sorry
how sorry
but it matters naught
indefensible drunk
i’m tired of sewing on lace
to what a dumb cunt you are
i almost didn’t believe he was real
it was easier to think his life was just another of your fictions
how could you keep nothing of him all these years
but one spring night
fate conspired with the devil
to make me understand
a picture of him rose to my hand
the hair
eyes
nose
beard
even the way he wore a hat
unmistakable
a mirror image skew of you
and you were right
he was softer
and more beautiful than you
first born, second loved, indeed
no wonder you had gone mad
i’m sorry he died
that your heart soon followed
and for every unknowing thing
i ever said
i’ve never killed anyone
not so much as a house plant has been lost
on my watch
but somehow i managed to murder
one man’s poetry
salinger was able
to describe the mundane rituals of a day
with such surgical precision
as to make the act of smoking a cigarette
in a bathroom
a symphony of the ineffable
he can keep his privileged drop out
l’enfant terribles
pitiful boys
never caught me in the rye
yet i long to share a table
with his glass family
so broken
joining hands to say the jesus prayer
before feasting on memories
of lost boys
seymour
served with banana fish
head of the table seated
quizzical
would ask his beloved
buddy
if he was writing his heart out
are you living with all your stars out?
were you here
i would wrap myself around you
place my lips to yours
take the hat off your head and place it on mine
i would make love to you while wearing one of your shirts
were you here
i would cook for you, cracking eggs with one hand to make your breakfast
rub your back when i see the pained look
dry your eyes when you cry
never stop touching you through the night
were you here
i would remember to grab your glasses
care if you know where your slippers are
buy you chocolate for no reason
not take you for granted
be marvelously kind
love you better
i would remember never to forget you
were you here
i don’t regret hurting you
i do regret knowing you
you’re the reason why our kids are ugly
i don’t care for the ginsberg poem
i’m not hung up on living past forty
i enjoy a big piece of meat in all forms
i think all poetry should be free verse
vanilla should be outlawed
marijuana should be legal
rapists and pedophiles and corrupt bankers should be executed
incendiary is good
i don’t give a fuck about my cholesterol
the government should forget everything they’re doing and begin again
people should throw out their child’s video game system while they still have some semblance of a soul
put a book in your child’s hands so they read it and learn empathy
take a walk every day
own a dog
be marvelously kind even when you don’t feel like it
liquor is good
sex is good
shut up and listen regularly
.
.
i’m falling in love with you
.
.
reality tv should end
abortions should be free and considered an act of mercy
women should be paid equally
water should be cherished
insurance companies should be banished
men should not be bashed for having balls
national healthcare need be implemented
all weapons should be melted into a temple built to honor peace
dance to music daily
religion should be do it yourself