deepundergroundpoetry.com
nude art for a sad story
it was a strapless night. there was a sadness that comes like
a sudden chill, with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. & it
wasn’t raining…
sometimes I go out for tobacco, & it takes me a week to find
the right brand: Turkish blend, parchment-toned papers. okay,
maybe I make a few detours along the way. she gets upset
‘cause I won’t flat-out quit the other dames.
I told her, birds gotta fly, wolves gotta howl, & writers gotta
write. if it wasn’t for whiskey, smokes & whores, I’d have
no charm at all. I’m just a rough-draft poet in a fedora &
shoulder-holster.
I don’t sleep much, & when I do, I can’t dream for both of us.
sometimes, even in the dark, I can make out the tears on her
pillow.
a woman has needs, different from a man, I figure; different
from me. she wants to be loved & kept safe, & it’s like that in
someone else’s movie, I suppose.
she knows the song of a broken heart, she’s been through it a
few times. when she’s had enough, she’ll run a long way to
forget about me. my gone girl.
but I hold her, I hold her close, right here in my Shakespearean
noir, like love is bigger than all the hurt in the world. it’s a sordid
tale & sad, but someone somewhere will read it.
…I like to think she lives on an island,
and never wears clothes…
(Artist unknown)
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