Sundays with Ginsberg

I know. I know another cheapy post with a poem. Those of you who hate poetry I’m sorry. I’m working on some new posts and hope to have one up this weeked–or at least something. Until then have a great Friday and again any thoughts (good or bad) welcomed.

Sundays with Ginsberg

 
Pockets and pockets filled with pills.

We dined on tables, made of trash cans turned upside down;

to see the truth in everything. Poems and cognac covered the ground.

We ate our weight in chicken wings and

left finger shaped BBQ stains on the couch

oozed with bodies as the sun rose and slept crept in the window

witches were drawn in ashes. I named mine Piqué.

It started a chorus of boos and murmurs. She was the bell of the ball

-ed up condoms became art. And when my wife called I almost always took it.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: