Skip to main content

"Death [rev.]" This Fuckin' Guy Attempts a Rewrite

Death [rev.]
Considering how fucking old I am
I have not experienced a shitload
Of pull-your-heart-out-of-your-chest-
And-kick-your-fuckikng-ass-from-here-to-
I-don't-fuckking-know-where-the-fuck-kinda-deaths.
Some. One already this year.
But not all that fucking many.

But I'm about to.
I'm fucking about to.
I'm about to experience another fucking one.

And I've never, ever, ever in my entire fucking life,
Been able to even fucking, fucking try
To tell someone who was about to fucking die
How much I love them
How much they fucking mean
How much..I don't fucking know
How much fucking everything.

But I did. I fucking did. I fucking tried.
I fucking tried, at fucking least.
I fucking tried.

By way of fucking background
When we fucking lived together
Susannah Fucking Ryan taught me fucking mountains of shit
Including a shitload of mystical shit
She designed and fucking executed the fantastic fucking record cover
For the King Missile album "Mystical Shit"
We smoked pot, drank coffee, read books, studied the fucking tarot and  kabbala and Crowley and really fucking loved each other,
Really fucking did.

I was unable, after I quit drugs,
To fucking keep it together with her
My fucking fault--not hers. Not hers. Not hers.

I spoke with her Monday on the motherfucking phone
And heard her beautiful fucking voice
Like it wasn't 25 fucking years ago
Like it was fucking last week or yesterday
Or some fucking shit.
Our conversation lasted as long as I could motherfucking stand.

She fucking thanked me
For taking that fucking proofreading class
Because she took it too,
And it ended up being her fucking career.

She told me she fucking saw parts of me in her son, James Elijah,
And that it's fucking interesting how you can see parts of other people in your children
Even though those other people are not biologically related to your children,
Because those other people are in you.
Am I fucking crazy for thinking that that is absolutely fucking right?
That makes perfect motherfucking sense to me.

She spoke of a fucking crystal
That she had put in the fucking window of her hospital room
And how a motherfucking bird had come near it that morning,
And how she's fucking happy she has this fucking window and can see the fucking mountains.
“The window makes me free,” she fucking said.

Then she said this:
"I'm sorry to be the center of suffering.
But it's nice to know that you love me enough to suffer."

That's when I lost my shit
That's when I had to hang up.
And I told her I would fucking call her again.
I certainly fucking will. I fucking will.
I still fucking haven't but I will. I fucking will.
And when I do, I will probably have to tell her
That I haven't fucking found those photographs
That I don't even know if I fucking have.
But I will keep looking. I fucking will.

These words say fucking nothing
Nothing can really say anything.
You can't really fucking capture someone's essence.
I couldn't do it Monday; and I fucking can't right now,
In this, another fucking meaningless fucking moment
Full of meaning.

Just fucking know this, motherfuckers:
She is really fucking something
Really fucking amazing
Really fucking amazing
Fucking fuck.
10/20/2014, rev. 10/26/2014

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

"Return" and "Trump I": This Fuckin' Guy Comes Back.

Return

It's been a long fucking time.
I'm not all that into me, but I've kind of fucking missed me.

After writing something like a hundred fucking poems in 14 months,
This Fuckin' Guy was getting fucking repetitive and pedestrian and boring.
To me, at least.
And I don't think I was the only fucking one.

But, now that 14 more months have gone by (17, actually)
And what with the state of the motherfucking union,
It feels like there might be a place again
For This Fuckin' Guy.

Let's see....

February 28, 2017


Trump I* (In Seven Parts)

I
Well, yeah, of course.
Fuck this fucking piece of shit
Fuck this piece of shit in his fucking dick
With a fucking corkscrew
Stick a fucking corkscrew in his dick
And screw it in.
Hard.
Fucking piece of shit.
Fuck this fucking motherfucker.

II
I've been trying to transcend
I've been meditating and being all like
Live and let live
But then this ever changing world in which we live in
Made me give in and cry
And say fuck that shit
Live and let this mo…

"Trump II: Speech" and "Retrospect": This Fuckin' Guy Reflects.

Trump II: Speech*
Jesus fucking cocks
How do you like the balls on this motherfucking piece of shit?

Make the bar so fucking low
That that shit looks statesmanlike?
That that shit looks good?
Fuck that shit
And fuck you.

But I will say one fucking thing:
It's a fucking shame that no Democrat since probably LBJ
Would even fucking think of proposing
A trillion fucking dollars on infrastructure
And I will say fuck yes to that.

I will give credit when credit is due
Like what that piece of shit Bush did in Africa:
A lot of fucking money to fight AIDS, malaria, and other fucked up shit
over there
Whereas that fuck Reagan took five fucking years to even say the fucking word "AIDS."
That piece of shit ratbastard fuck.

So fuck yes to Bush fighting AIDS, malaria, and other fucked up shit in Africa
And fuck yes to proposing a trillion dollars for infrastructure
Even if it never fucking happ‎ens
It's a nice fucking gesture
It's a lovely fucking gestu‎re
So fuck yes
I mean, I'm almost al…

"Loss."

Loss
Two fucking years ago
A month or two after Citibike fucking started up
I was like, fucking hell, I hardly ever ride the fucking subway anymore
So I stopped getting the monthly fucking unlimited fucking Metrocard
And got a pay per fucking ride
And I hardly ever fucking paid for a fucking subway ride:

For fucking months
I'd get on a fucking bike each morning
And I'd be like, hey I'm fucking saving money
And after a couple of months,
Let me fucking tell you,
I was the fastest motherfucking Citbike riding motherfucker
On the motherfucking bike path
Along the fucking Hudson
Going south in the morning.
Not the fastest fucking bike rider --
There were always some fucking Lycrafucks
Who would pass my ass (see "Bike"; the second to last
Motherfucking poem I wrote on August 30th of last fucking year;
Or hear "Bike," here; I think it's the second fucking track).
But never fucking ever did a motherfucker on another Citibike
Ever fucking pass me.

But s…