I replied (for I poems 2011)
I don't tell you this
I don't write for friends
I answer the scrapping steel down the road
I answer to the hyperactive motorcyclist whipping his throttle and disappearing, rumbling under the highway topping near Las Vegas.
It wasn't rough. It wasn't consensual on my side.
I don't agree with your imaginative perception of yourself.
Your fairy eyes. Your tub boat shower dance. And your smell of too much wine, weed, chocolate and sweets and your four square meal and your too much too much.
Disappearing and rumbling.
It wasn't rough. It was tough. It was not my initial idea.
You just popped up in the audience and met me on the side walk, near the busy and scary streets. Smiling and lying and interrupted my conclusion of another love that I really loved.
I woke up I woke down.
I woke down I woke up.
I never awoke I awoke.
I never awoke. I'm guilty. I'm high. I'm out of my mind on wine and Colorado bud. Your fed ex poisons.
Your jealously has ingredients. Besides the lies and wicked strategies its mixed with icy dragonflies and crystal verses.
I starved I fed
I fed I starved
I died I lived
I ran I'm spent.
But never ran
See, this guy doesn't think well of himself.
Was it medicine? Or poison? Or just government grown.
Was it your walk or welcomes or disgust and hidden smells.
I was stoned
I was rocked
I was alone
I was bought. I always ran.
I reply but not to friends.
(November 20th, 2011)