the movie played with intimations of lovelessness but
each time I was somewhere as if I had woken up one morning
with juice in my eye. each time it was as if I had jokingly
woken up with a Pitt-Jolie. I went through all of the notions.
I even recorded eleven poems and then I rode the F Train to the
MOVIE. they still hadn’t paid me but she seemed pleased.
everything will be fine. the music lopped off the credits like
you know a guillotine or something so I had to pay the rent late.
there were so many bruises and bleeding tattoos on 57th Street
around 10:30pm on a Friday evening but we were holding hands
up the hill to the porn arcade and then we had Malaysian food.
then he showed me...shit what was the name of the used bookstore
with “eight miles of books”? the firemen kept putting out fires
with honey. we sat on individual seats one in front of the other
and I got so lost that I got angry. later we watched the new flick
and got rested up. then I beat him up. I stuck a sock into his clouds.
all of the teardrops in New York on the way down Market Street
in the chic but fairly expensive Italian restaurant. I’d better
go in and check the laundry. I bit his lip and then I realized
it was an unconventional relationship. I had no way to be
quite as eloquent as a critic. it was fun and that’s all it was
but it’s still very hard not to feel guilty.
