forget fame for fortune. we’re playing bigger game. we want the Nobel Peace Prize (even if Killinger has sullied it). this fun of being with kathy over flows, makes others smile in hope.
before kathy, i used to be an attack poet – now i’m proof positive one’s never too old/young to join the Circus. figure kathy n i’ll roam the world, shed laugh and chatter – leave whiff of hope here, smidgen of smile there. it will accumulate in logical pockets, become infectious, self propagate, and even republican politicians will become too happy to keep killing babies. the world of course in gratitude will award us the Nobel Peace Prize.
speaking of chatter … we lie in the dusk in our temporary fairy trap love shack and talk – then steal what we say for poems . . . here’s 3:
Catnip
Mature cat seeks young kitten
for yarn pull
You pull my yarn,
I’ll purr yers…
. . .
Bed Bug Bite
She —
Your hand smells of woman
Of play dough
Play dough smells like cunt
But cold cunt
Your hand smells of warm
He —
Ah, but I love a good cold cunt sandwich
. . .
Junkie Business
I’m losing my last two crutches:
coffee
and marijuana.
In the old days
I could have coffee
after dinner.
You know,
this junkie business
is for younger bodies.
You keep doing it,
and pretty soon,
you end up like Keith Richards,
falling out of trees
and landing on your head.
. . .
i love loving a poet person.
so cool to hear my here in word.