Poetry

stupid audiences are no worse than 
boring poets,boring musicians, boring artists 
boring philosophers. 

If the world is  a stage, 
the audience: (you) amoral nymphs 
gorging off the sangría 
pouring out  of my wrists. 
I am a prostitiute. 

We´ll clank our glasses together 
and taste smooth full-bodied delusion, 
lay the cornerstone the next eleven steps 
are bulit upon. 

Eternal life Moral enlightenmnet 
all crocks one in the same, 
but you will still fade away 
like blood thirsty citizens 
swayed to and fro with the prose 
of sweet idiots like me. 

I am no vanguard 
nor should you pat yourselves on the back 

but digress 
I, 
          because 

that cute guy in the corner checking you out 
is really saying 
                "She have wide hips, she give many babies". 

that cute girl smiliing and tussling her hair 
is really saying 
                "He have broad shoulders, he hunt many antelope". 

and 

all I really want is a spear to kill things with, 
marking my territory on the walls with out 
getting arrested, scratch my balls in public, 
naked like pre-historic man. 

and 

six months from now you will love this poem 
on a different night, in a different bar, no different from this 
swathing into another more pretentious than the next 

cursed by sirens singing on the rocks 
about cusps, futures, selfish revolutions 
taking vacations to the margins 
with that so typical 
Wicker Park mentality.