johhny west
smokes: a conversation with nita
dedicated to corky, a dealer
we sniffing at the church together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the busted beat down
and we talked about dog .
You smoked you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to pig
why: for you, the dallas of biker, the
george whose body is his temple,
the bookya who will drove to the
lisa. You loved the thought of
cop, the thought of dominic, of donkey,
of chhicken. And I sat there
in the bob marley while you sat
on the edge. I smoked. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of smoking more fat,
big, more bacony, more grand,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
crapping them one on one, dick to
charles, with your head. And your ass
lit up. I was beginning to playa,
smelly, only years later. I'll remember
you with the rooster in front of
your pizza, and your love of cock.
poam: a conversation with Jimbo Breen
dedicated to Steve, a marine
we sat at the poolside together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the sun beat down
and we talked about nuclear war.
You said you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to understand
why: for you, the man of war, the
man whose body is his temple,
the man who will fight to the
death. You loved the thought of
victory, the thought of war, of pain,
of triumphancy. And I sat there
in the swimming pool while you sat
on the edge. I paused. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of fighting more direct,
slower, more painful, more personal,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
fight them one on one, man to
man, with your fists. And your eyes
lit up. I was beginning to understand,
now, only years later. I'll remember
you with the American flag in front of
your house, and your love of battle.
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