A Snare Intro That Sets The Heart To Racin'

(a poem is like a naked person)*

a message to myself from who knows who
-hey, are you the guy who cannot make love?

a message from myself from who knows how or when
-no seriously body want me ok

and thinkin' on these things the both i think i find a little too much truth in these words called words because i've been all over and i've heard a thing or two not to mention seen the same such and after my years of things or twos and twelve times as many months of sames the such i think i've learned that it's important to keep a pen and a working lighter on one's person or perhaps persona non grata as the case may diplomatica may be because anything else is just baggage and we all know that's nothin' but that which is to get lost in foreign countries without a language or even a kiss when you need it most and all you can do is sit and wait with a coffee or two. which is all you can ever do. just sit. drink coffee. and if you've got that pen and the lighter you can at least write the life everyone thinks you're having and smoke cigarettes to remind yourself that you're actually having the life you're having or maybe it's the other way around... i never could tell. it's all gets so very all complicated you see no?

and then there are those oh so very nights complicatio when you're feelin' like you're still somewhere along the antimeridian central in between the halfs and halfs nots that the world has tried to make and unmake in its all oceans and seas and gulfs and lakes and dreams in a great state of turmoil when the basic structural principles are in question and no i didn't say it first but no i don't just mean music.

he quick called to slow ask
-has she heard blonde on blonde?
-i doubt it
-how could she and then not?
-i sure as hell don't know
-but you've heard it right?
-how could i not?
-then you know everything you've ever written on the subject or will ever write is already there waiting to be heard discovered experienced embedded known to the point that you don't even need to bother writing another word on the subject because it's all going to be derivative drivel an impotent hammer slamming down on dead nails already driven home
-know? how could i and then not?

and then we stared into a shared darkness for days on end until he came back with a new listen and some aidvice old
-her railroad gate?
-aww hell it ain't about her
-but if not her then who?
-does it matter?
-fuck no
-well then
-but still yo
-a gait it was indeed

it taught me something sure, but it all does and after a time it's all too much to take in. it's too easy to get buried under a feverstorm category five fire lit sunk drowned out drunk dead.

it's scary to stand on the edge and look down. but it's dangerous to stand there looking up.

*(but a song is something that walks by itself)