I awaken about noon and go out to
in my old torn bathrobe.
I’m hung over
hair down in my eyes
barefoot

The flies are angry bits of life;
why are they so angry?
it seems they want more,
it seems almost as if they
are angry

if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
otherwise, don’t even start.
if you’re going to try, go all the
way.

one of Lorca’s best lines
is,
“agony, always
agony ...”
think of this when you

Bach, I said, he had 20 children.
he played the horses during the da
he f—ed at night
and drank in the mornings.
he wrote music in between.

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

starving there, sitting around the
and at night walking the streets f
hours,
the moonlight always seemed fake
to me, maybe it was,

out of the arm of one love
and into the arms of another
I have been saved from dying on th
by a lady who smokes pot
writes songs and stories

I have lain in bed all day
but I have written one poem
and I am up now
looking out the window
and like a novelist might say

don’t undress my love
you might find a mannequin:
don’t undress the mannequin
you might find
my love.