the girls and the horses and the
alleys and the nights and the dogs
and the knives and the poisons and
the wines and the midgets and the
gamblers and the lights and the guns
and the lies and the sacrifices
and the flies and the frogs and the
flags and the doors and the windows
and the stairways and the cigarettes
and the hotels and myself have been
around a long time.
just like you.
the night the poets dropped by to say
hello
was at the time
that terrible time when
the ladies on the telephone
were screaming their fury
at me.
the night the poets came by to say
hello
I offered them cigarettes
as they talked about the
poet
who traveled all the way to Paris
in order to be able
to select the contents
of his next book
and we smiled at that
the poets and I
as we remembered starvation
dark mornings
deadly noons
evenings of elephantine
misery.
the night the poets came by to say
hello
we also mused about whatever happened to
Barney Google with the googly
eyes: he probably died for the love of
a strumpet as many good men
have
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