my walls of love

it’s on nights like this, I get back what I
can.
the living is hard, the writing is free.

were that the women were as easy
but they were always much the same:
they liked my writing in finished book-
form
but there was always something about the
actual typing
working toward the new
which bothered them…

I wasn’t competing with them
but they got competitive with me
in forms and styles which I didn’t consider
either original or creative
although to me
they were certainly
astonishing enough.

now they are set loose
with themselves and the others
and have new problems
in another way.

all those lovlies:
I’m glad I’m with them in spirit
rather than in the flesh

as now I can bang this fucking machine
without concern.

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