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Order this writing in the collection book Breaking Silences available for only 1650 |
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This appears in a pre-2010 issue of cc&d magazine.
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Poet Meets Poet
Je’free
I know of another poet
who lives at the 3rd floor of my apartment
He invited me to his place one day
filled with piles of laundry,
and a few broken beer bottles
The room smelled as if
he passed gas there, and held it hostage
longer than his week old beard
It made me wonder
how can this poet organize his thoughts
when he could not organize his chores
Before we even talked,
he went through his 2 day old unchecked mails,
with one rejection letter from some publisher
He sighed&made a comment:
“I just need one break. But, I guess,
opportunity is as elusive
as a young pussy to an old fart.
A hemorrhoid-tucker in some
convalescent home is at times
better than a struggling poet.”
Then, when the moonlight hit
his face on the way to me,
he said: “Hey, Je’free. I’ve read your book.
My new favorite poet now is
Je’free, Je’free, Je’-”
As he was completing
the last syllable of my name,
I somewhat felt like the penis
of overflowing flattery being jerked off
He moved&sounded erratic though,
as if on LSD or some drug,
despite the calming, symphonic
classical Mozart playing
which he probably plays when he writes
A few minutes of silence;
then, he was puking like crazy
It struck me, that I had to ask myself:
“What the hell am I doing here?”
Maybe I should just come back
for better conversation
when he is less fucked up
