Van Gogh cut off his ear
gave it to a
prostitute
who flung it away in
extreme

I took my girlfriend
to your last poetry reading,
she said “yes”,
“yes?” I asked.
"she`s young and pretty",

some dogs who sleep At night
must dream of bones
and I remember your bones
in flesh
and best

drunk again at 3 a.m. at the end o
of wine, I have typed from a dozen
poesy
an old man
maddened for the flesh of young gi

not much chance,
completely cut loose from
purpose,
he was a young man
riding a bus

sway with me, everything sad—
madmen in stone houses
without doors,
lepers steaming love and song
frogs trying to figure

the words have come and gone,
I sit ill.
the phone rings, the cats sleep.
Linda vacuums.
I am waiting to live,

it sits outside my window now
like and old woman going to market
it sits and watches me,
it sweats nevously
through wire and fog and dog—bark

the dream of a man
is a whore with a gold tooth
and a garter belt,
perfumed
with false eyebrows

it was on the 2nd floor on Coronad
I used to get drunk
and throw the radio through the wi
while it was playing, and, of cour
it would break the glass in the wi