Category: Mexico. The non beach parts.

11/13/09

Permalink 03:23:22 pm, by iamhco Email , 352 words   English (US)
Categories: Suck it up, Glitter Guts., Mexico. The non beach parts.

Code.

If by some intangible
twist of sugar plum
fate you happen to understand
in the least where I
am and what I am saying please
send me a post card the
over sized one that costs
extra postage so you can
say everything you need to
just in case it's the last time
I ever see your writing
on a piece of paper for me

I sleep soundly for about
sixty minutes a night I am
incapable of writing anything
you would want to sit through
a meal with and if you're thinking
anything
just stop it because I have
no place to
be making you think

take me to a sunset give me
double cheeseburgers and
streets of pinatas jet black
hair and glass soda bottles

Gold glitter dress in a Mexican
strip club universal rings
around the arms and eyes do you
remember
would you
remember?

Kool cigarettes in Indiana two for five
Sbarro in Times Square sticky buns in
Idaho terimasu in
SoHo Laundromats in the south loop of
Chicago in & out in Barstow (fuck you)
chocolate in Madrid and pills in Ibiza
Falaffel in Detroit hits of acid in
the suburbs of Illinois and a golf
ball of MDMA in a basement last January
Gatorade in Texas and coffee like diesel
fuel from Albuquerque chocolate milk and love
in Rosweld Chiles penne pasta in Oklahoma
Alize in Los Angeles Sake in Milwaukee after
the tattoo and some kind of breakfast
at a TGI Fridays stuck in Laguardia a
few martinis and a pack of cigarettes
in Las Vegas and a calling card from
Globe, Arizona Rings and necklaces in
San Fransisco a patio dinner in the sun
in San Diego there was sushi in Phoenix and
crunch bars on the U of A campus that melted
to my bag I shopped with his credit card
at only whole foods under that big hot
sun those weren't the days were they

Gold glitter dress in a Mexican
strip club universal rings
around the arms and eyes do you
remember
would you
remember?

Love and free Pina Coladas,
Dylan

February 2012
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I write a blog. Because I want to be a writer, so writing every day makes me one. It isn't because I went to college or wrote essays. It's because I'm so full of myself I'm sick on it. I've written a book, a half of a book, and I just started another one. And I write, because I must write, at least a poem a day. I write a blog because I'm just as terminally cool as you are. You could call me Heather or you could call me Tambourine. I know where I'm from. I don't know where I'm going. I'm ordinary like a perfectly fitting gold dress on some extravagant red carpet where everyone else is a perfectly fitting gold dress too. I write on womens issues. Addiction and death from addiction. Rape and murder and joy and love and absence, madness and skills and total desperation to bridge gaps. Recovery and light and all of my x boyfriends, best friends and my lovely family that feeds me cakes of roses because I am the baby. X to Sylvia for this title. Thank you for your time with my words.

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