moons of honey drown in lark hahaha

this place is overheated
there are blue marks shaped like horseshoes
appearing on my arms and
chest…

paint
a Turkish bath
with all the towels soaked
and through the steam
appears the worst thing imaginable–
a crawling octipus with the face of my father
playing a harmonica badly
very badly…

ha…

we sometimes play with words like we play
with women and we often
lose
more often we lose
bring on the
next…

if you keep drinking, he says,
you will be senile long before your
age…
I laugh and gag on the drink
geysers spurt on the lampshade,
he has made me laugh
he has made me happy…

today I walked up and down the room
thinking and
I put my hands behind my back and
I pretended I was
Beethoven and
I began to whistle but I didn’t solve
anything…

I went over and read his poems–
shit, asshole, fuck, god damn, hell
said the words in his
poems.
you’ve got the idea right, I said,
but you’re using the wrong
words.
I never though you were that way,
he said,
I thought you were tough.
all of which goes to show, my friends,
if you’ve got a disciple or two
it’s usually for the wrong
reasons…

really, sometimes dying is braver than
living.
those cows you see laying in the fields with their
tits bubbling over in the sun
can hardly compare to the 2nd. rate bulls of
Tijuana facing 2nd. rate
bullfighters…

Greta Garbo had the soul of an
elephant.

shit piss fuck cunt
god damn.