(from cardboard notebook public diary)
Mmm Bloody Mary! B left for a sweater & pretty dress. The wind in intense boise. The night blow. The alcoholic in me celebrates. The tiny alcoholic. I've missed myself. A little heartbreak, a little hurdle. It will be good to leave. Maybe Tuesday or Wednesday. Make the final arrangements. Say a silent goodbye, middlefinger to the sky. Oh, boyfriends. And manymore. I'm thinking a texan. Who in their right mind is named Kyle?
Next I see him... he will be tiny. He absolutely did it, for real! A classic. "I don't do cats, I don't do beluga."
Oh, inside. As George said, a heavy Patriarchal show. It goes on for days & weeks, and happens to. If I liked him more, he'd be called Sasha. We'll just call him nothing. o But he's an artist! I can lament that his community attracts. The poets, scholars. Poets jerk themselves off. I'm going to read you Kenneth Koch. "Guess what, Molly, in Nebraska there's this beautiful national monument, a plateau, and there we went and recited Leaves of Grass. It was amazing..." Oh, stroke me more, you obvious retard! He lacks in anything said. Beautiful things, actual poetry, foreign to his taste. How could he not be struck by the black & white butterfly corpse I flattened in Tennessee Williams? A Dude poet. Poetry, and that impresses me? Often. But obvious! I haven't heard a bit of poetry uttered from his flat lips! He would drive me to suicide after a week of him. Still I'm angry. He's no right to actually be that guy. I said things, enticing, come to the fair & I'll hold yer hand. He chuckles. I don't need to hold your hand anymore, . But wait... why does it happen? Does it actually happen? This? He needs a lesson in the subtlety of honesty. The success in honest.
I couldn't change it. I might be able to show him. How I'd love that opportunity! Standing there before his handsome tall form, Listen, Guy... I would have fucked you anyway! What was it, a simple exercise in manipulation? Will you write a poem on it? No. You're lacking too much in creativity. Yeah. I'll say that at the end. No I won't. Give him some scars to think about. Not a chance.There're some poetics for you. Flat lips. Resembling too much S. L & A. W. Never again... oh I can't keep writing about this, can I? How about is Poem formed?
