HOW TO BE ME AND WHY
Simple. Don't. Stay up all night reading Ulysses, having
dreadnought libels thrown your way after five hours dead
in slogging through Joyce. Watching all those pictures come
to life thinking about Hell, labor, and strife. Buying a
stress-heavy ticket for lottery millions. Misgivings.
Talking to that girl, again. Two years ago, everyday, it
was about her Jeep, now it's about her Benz, and she
looks different too. Not mine. Just different. Everyday,
in front of the house. Today, a block away. Again.
School-girl graduations turn into twenty-year old
things instead. Interesting transformations.
Dark coffee, late night wine, anything red and bitter.
Have to stay up, just to watch the clock crash land while
another friend flies off to Paris at dawn from JFK. No,
Newark. Newark to Orly. I am an orphan here in
Fat City; holding court in the chess club of Carmine
Street, sitting down at the Bowery Poetry Club for
another tense break. Crush me a dark-roast now.
Will anyone understand if I say I mean a person?
How to be me, and why? Please no, don't. One wasted
life is more than enough for the legendary calculation
about how humans live. 'The way we do have our
tongues out a yard long like the drouthy clerics
do be fainting for a pussful.' Stephen laughed.