Wednesday, October 3, 2012

october 3rd, 2012

Here a couple new poems. Enjoy.

been a while

I haven’t written poetry in a while
or sat down with a pen and a fresh bottle of whiskey
and I miss it.
I miss the outpour of anger and frustration.
I miss the hangover the next morning
that accompanies the reread,
because when the reread is good,
when the poetry feels right,
the hangover sprouts a pair of legs
and struts out my front door,
into the Los Angeles heat.
I miss the bad rereads too,
when the poetry feels wrong,
because it provides that necessary push,
that essential first step toward greatness.
I miss defeating the bleakness of three a.m..
I miss the ambient music that soothed my drunk bones.
I miss the fear I felt reading better work than mine,
knowing it would take a million more whiskey nights
to be mentioned in the same conversation.
I miss pacing around the kitchen,
pulling my hair out,
readjusting my posture
and staring out the window in hopes of an answer
or the one sentence that could change everything.

I haven’t written poetry in a while
and I don’t have a fresh bottle of whiskey by my side,
but this poem feels right
and I no longer fear better work than mine,
nor do I fear happiness,
for it’s merely an excuse the weak use when searching for a scapegoat. 

“I have a mentor”

“I have a mentor”
she says
“who tells me to write ten pages everyday
just get it out
ten pages everyday
it’s gonna be shit
oh it’s gonna be real bad
but if you write ten pages a day
for ten days
you’ll have 100 pages
and a script.”
“so it’s like diarrhea
of the pen”
I say.
she says.
glad we’re on the same page.

I tried to walk to a nearby diner
to work out the kinks
with a green legal pad
a black pilot g-2 07 pen
and nabokov’s lolita.
my privacy was taken from me
by a friend,
a man I like,
and a girl who’s writing ten pages everyday
for ten days
until a bad script drops from her bowels
like a corn infested log from my hairy asshole.

all I wanted to do was drink alone in peace
with nabokov
a green legal pad
a black pilot g-2 07 pen
and my concerns.

the novel is getting to me.
it’s tearing me apart.
but I think i like it.