Lady of the night
Prowler of the streets
Prostitute that crosses the boulevard, goes down the avenue, and fades away down the alleyway;
You’re just surviving, in a cruel and odd world that doesn’t feel like it should treat women as equally as men, and yes, I’m going there.
How can I not go there, honestly?
I want to be with someone who doesn’t feel all too petty or cheaply talkative about stupid useless bullshit: I’m the bad guy, I don’t disagree with that, but I’d rather find someone who doesn’t mind the craziness.
January 3, 2013
Writing a haiku
Nothing comes to mind.
The poetic bug keeps moving and moving
Life is neither good nor bad
The universe doesn’t give a shit
All I have is a keyboard, a bank account for porn and food,
And a limitless supply of used books.
What else is there to life if not fun and fornication and Dorito Loco Tacos
Or whatever the hell they’re called, don’t ask me.
What do I look like? Someone who knows shit? Someone in control?
Who am I kidding I don’t know what I’m talking about
Let alone what I’m gonna do when the opportunity comes:
Do I go for the same old song and dance of the last few thousand years
Or do I just decide to lose my mind and say hi to Gaga and Scully and Emma Stone and Johansson and whatever other woman that I think is fantastic
And just commit to a career of poetry for them?
But I guess I’m stupid.
January 5, 2013
My neighbor next door
She can eat a dick
Why should evil senior citizens be “respected”? ]
January 6, 2013
Am I an editor trying to be subjective with other works?
Or do most poems and stories fail to capture my interest?
Eh, when someone writes sappy love poems with sappy metaphors,
Then I won’t pretend to like it; I’m fucked when it comes to this literary magazine
(Or maybe I’ve never really gotten into my fellow wayward teenage writing chum-mates, or their styles….Possibilities are limited at this time, please come back at the next quarter-half-full moon, please and thank you.)
January 7, 2013
The past is dead, and that includes former love interests and female friends:
Eh, it’s scary to wake up one morning and realize three years have passed, and all you’ve done
Is waste time with some people, who just weren’t worth it after all.
But, you can’t change facts, and revisionist history is not my forte: I guess I’ll just live with myself, and learn to forget the rest, and remember the fun times, too.
Sappy cliché shit aside, at least we all had fun:
Isn’t that something? Right?
Or Gillian Anderson