magen

lets face it,
my favorite poet
was
DRUNK
off
Classical music
or
WINE
(or anything alcoholic for that matter)
courage,
of course,
is alcohol
in its liquid form.
there was
also
heartbreak, woman,
bad work,
in-grown toe nails,
hotels, and
bad diet.

it all
came so
easily like
karma on the
sharpened edge.

this,
of course,
continued
upon the weary
keyboard,
for the eternal
fire,
line after line,
until
finally the
woman, fame,
and
fortune,
came along.

by then it was too late to
grapple the cock
for a good one
on her
face.

now he drives a
porche,
listens to classical music
in a beautiful neighborhood,
but has all forgotten the
sexless
poets.
the
wild-eyed
pieces of shit
lying in their dark rooms
listening to Jazz
Coltrane, Miles Davis, Bill Evans, Sonny Rollins,
Cannonball Adderly
and Davis and Sonny Rollins, and Parker and Bill Evans
and Thelonious monk, and Gilbert Castellanos.
waiting for hard luck.
waiting for hard luck.
like trying to understand
jazz.

these poets will surely have
their head upon the guillotine for
final show.

I will write like,
one line like,
green leaves of autumn resemble her,
summer smile can take you far,
but not in a world of
madness.
a world of poetry and
Jazz
confined.

Magen,
after all these years
and hiatius of bad poetry...

you're still on my mind,
every single
day.

for this,
I am sorry,

But I know better then
to ever get involved, and I wont.

The greatest love is to love and let go
and see the one you love be happy.

I do not even watch from a distance,
I just assume what I briefly see or hear.

I wish you happiness, romance, and self-respect. for each other,
I know, I've learned a lot sine you've been gone! lol

see ya magen