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Poem

the nights were filled with arguments
new jersey had a new prostitute
spring and true love, drunken moments
soon mutable to the crashing of objects
against the walls, the doors
freedom thru defenestration
how was i supposed to read and write
i would bang on the wall
hey, Quasimodo, pax vobiscum, remember
mans sana in copre sano
this is heaven here on earth
try Occam's razor for god's sake
there would be a knock on the door
Quasi had returned my Beethoven's fifth
earphones, boom box
i loved his courtships
he used to walk, talk
and breathe his next conquest
the ones he could convince
to leave the profession
gifts in tow, he would stop by, well
you're irresistible Quasi
she hasn't a chance
need money, a few lines in Spanish
anything for a fellow kamikaze
it was worth the silence
i could hear him above my own roar
my only wish was to teach him
pick on the tourists, they leave
upon his victorious return, the inevitable
he would pull the bed back
far enough from the wall
to get the banging effect he needed
gave her hell didn't i, he would say
and the inevitable always brought the war
month, sometimes more, and they would
have found a new patron of the bottle art
but new jersey took one seriously
doing his life in Mexico
what is it like to love a woman to death
i don't care to know
what a horrible thought
it is much easier waving goodbye to buses
no jail time, no funeral expenses


   Playa Hermosa 92   The Patient Stones

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