He was never meant to be idolized. They weren’t there to be photographed and memorialized. They needed to be honest. They needed to have a voice and a small platform to make people understand what reality really was. They only spoke of sunshine and roses through the gray sadness of hope they lived within. They were each other’s breathe and life.
I imagine he would have despised cell phones and Facebook. They would have banished the modern-day spiritualist.
Walking around that bookshop and that bar, I became as sad as I was the last time I forgot what it is like to simply connect. I have lost the desire to accept. I have ignored my instincts for common decency. I have traded living for comfort. I have rid myself of all desire to write poetry for the need to be sexually idolized, only to have neglected to write because of the loneliness of being the only one to read, to relate, to my thoughts.
There was a time when I trudged through the blizzards of Queens to sit in a postcard-padded basement sipping martinis and dissecting every atom of what existence past and present are comprised of. It was all so magical then. Knowing everything about nothing and being a part of an intentionally isolated group of modern bohemian hobos.
The reality we mocked, though, has now torn us apart and created a false realism that we have become suffocated in, entrapped within. And, the lure of its prize has weighed too heavy on our desires to even want to escape.
I crave, in this moment, to have a jug of cheap red wine and howl through the night until the sunrise with a fearless, electric few. I’m just afraid that, with spite from my past, I have lost too much interest in people.
Being beat is something you are, not something you become. I’m glad they buy the books, but, I’m sad they cannot see the gray shroud that religiously dons itself over all of life.
bourbon and a beer
pork bun digesting in the belly
warm wine marinating in my colon
crisp wind scraping clean the lungs
insidious infections gnawing my brain
The American Dream
a steel toe boot
crushing my esophagus
like everyone before me
where time and certainty have gone to…