a conversation between two poets

with a special shout out to timothy gans….

there is a stoned iranian architect sending me texts by rimbaud and it’s almost time for me to stand behind a lunch counter with a tunisian who fought in many wars…later i will get drunk with a brazilian and trade conspiracy theories…i wonder how much plane tickets cost so i could come sit on your couch…

If we keep up like this, I’ll still want it long after the flower withers and the honey flow turns to vinegar, Darling… I don’t dazzle or mystify easily… its the gutter from which we both dare tempt the stars and dream… the filth of you is filth of me… and it aches…

i used to be the spider and you the fly. why did my web never catch you? i remember the first time i heard you play bass. i’m sorry i made out with your girlfriend in the bathroom that night. i keep your sentiments in my handbag with my pink moleskine notebook…the coffee is tearing up my stomach along with the feeling he is warming other hearts and other sheets…i’m the virgin whore wishing i was in babylon

As long as you know… its not the sex; its the consummation of being wrong in all the right ways… its beautiful because its ugly and it hurts. Its important only in that it begets itself… its liberating because it doesn’t matter… its the only innocent thing I have left to do.

i must respond to this in the only way i know how…i have to clean up dog vomit…

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