Tag: facebook

another conversation between two poets…

Something something something… in the dark. When they weren’t looking, I saw you crying but its cool… We only cry for ourselves. Bleary-eyed… Is that even a word? Hmmm… through the blur of tears (much better)… kinda half-closed eyes. We see everything the way we thought it should be. (Tenses mixed.) We can’t make a life that overlaps without a proper circumstance, and we haven’t one… but I remember. I always remember. C’est la vie in some postcard scenery or other. What matters… what’s left… a day, a month, a feeling to gauge what’s right or wrong?  You always had the best smile… I like it when you smile.

i guess it’s true we only see what we want to see…i’m almost a celebrated international artist, but the thought of it without my junk makes me feel unworthy…i’ve been crying all afternoon for myself, for my lover, for my friend….death is just around the last corner and love is just a lie…but god what i wouldn’t give to be fucked again…i’m starting to feel like a nun or a leper…my smile isn’t what it used to be…my teeth are rotten and my memories show in the composition…it’s a heat wave and a cold spell all at the same time…funny when i write to you i can always find the perfect words and i’m pretty sure this will get copy and pasted…and i’ll plagiarize you at the same time…but i know you don’t mind my dear…i promise to give you the credit that you don’t give a shit about…help me remember what i was looking for 18 years and 2000 miles ago in a dingy club in a shitty town in greater chicagoland…was it love or freedom?  or maybe just the validation of a purposeless existence…i miss you…i miss your grimace, your hands on a neck…wooden or flesh…

Wings to fly, Wings to hide, Winged by pain & Wing my fidgin fain… I love your rotted teeth love. Its makes me think of myself and Keith Richards. Not bad company. And fakes were always in the cards anyhow; oxidize or acid dry mouth coffee blend… time, it seems, was forever the singular winner in the minor skirmish that was our lives. I Love you, Boo. Smile til it feels right again…
-T. William Gans

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…