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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