Heart attack

Goulet

The way it hurts so bad in the Big City is so undeniable,
with short, shifty eyes staring back on the subway
underground trains
missing all the autumn mist
missing all the lip kisses,
but since the last time we talked,
when I was younger
and wore green shoes and dreamed of the future
and thought about killing fish with rocks,
the plop
and slap
of slabs of earth hitting blunt water,
it’s the concrete
sidewalks that get to me most,
I can’t tell if it’s just that everyone has two hands
in two pockets
or maybe
they’re all too busy
with business suits
and business transactions
that happen fast and swift in the Downtown life
that I am not a part of.
I sit and watch the rain too,
but there’s something in the homoerotic nights
and sweaty clubs and bars,
whiskey and dick
and every single person trying to be
the next Ginsberg or Keats or
better. But,
there are no teeming streets,
no bleeding,
just the humming of change;
nickels, dimes and pennies,
in the pockets of hustlers and bums
and dutiful desk men.
Its too bad.
The moon could
crash into the Earth and destroy the waterways and oceans
and land-masses,
but Eros would still get by
somehow
someway.

Ali

Goulet wrote:

The way it hurts so bad in the Big City is so undeniable,
with short, shifty eyes staring back on the subway
underground trains
missing all the autumn mist
missing all the lip kisses,
but since the last time we talked,
when I was younger
and wore green shoes and dreamed of the future
and thought about killing fish with rocks,
the plop
and slap
of slabs of earth hitting blunt water,
it’s the concrete
sidewalks that get to me most,
I can’t tell if it’s just that everyone has two hands
in two pockets
or maybe
they’re all too busy
with business suits
and business transactions
that happen fast and swift in the Downtown life
that I am not a part of.
I sit and watch the rain too,
but there’s something in the homoerotic nights
and sweaty clubs and bars,
whiskey and dick
and every single person trying to be
the next Ginsberg or Keats or
better. But,
there are no teeming streets,
no bleeding,
just the humming of change;
nickels, dimes and pennies,
in the pockets of hustlers and bums
and dutiful desk men.
Its too bad.
The moon could
crash into the Earth and destroy the waterways and oceans
and land-masses,
but Eros would still get by
somehow
someway.

The next Ginsberg or Keats?
Welcome to my town....

coleen

this is what i have missed in ways i can't begin to count

Being Enlightened

A way with thoughtwords he has, he has---daz fah shooah!