No NO NO
black hair black eyes black boots
black lungs
doesn't know where she's going
knows all about where she's been
smells like sweat
has bad teeth
ties her shoelaces with a fork
combs her hair with a knife
driving round the world in a '57 cadillac
making promises never to go back
setting out on a journey so hungry
eating dreams
in rooms with white walls--they left stains.
sex that healed a nation
sex worth telling stories about.
black voice
cobra moan
sting like a bee
WHO DATES SAM SHEPHERD?!
blue jeans
sees though the veil
start a band
pony up
who needs a pretty dress?
poet before you were a singer
writing stories in bed
crushing on the likes of williams s. burroughs
on the likes of SAM SHEPHERD?!
of Allen Ginsberg
I like you.
Didn't know you'd be the one telling the stories. (thank god.)
comfort in the cracks, in the in between spaces
"I did it because Patti told me to!"
wrapped the pigeon in newspaper clipping and set it on fire on a roof in brooklyn while I read Walt Whitman.
threw a party just for fun, for art:
"we need to remove all the 21st century technology from this room. NOW."
That kind of person doesn't look male or female that kind of woman who had to learn to become woman because she was no good at it.
She was surprised by the incident of her breasts.
Alarmed at the possibility of her legs.
Shackled by her own desires
Trying to be something they didn't dream up until 30 years later.