words of a people aligned in their perfect order
my son tells me that when I run out of ideas
to write about love –
and if I’ve written about love before
it should be easy –
I suppose it should –
but it rarely is.
some of the hardest poems I’ve written
were about love –
filial love, sexual love, bonded love,
platonic love, Greek love,
love of self or of youth, of beauty
of women or men
woman or man.
all I ever write about is love
in one form or another
and sometimes, I guess,
it is easy.
though you would never know it.
– Hoc Scripsi
Available now at this link – Men in the Company of Women –
I am very proud to be a part of this volume and I urge you to obtain a copy for yourselves as soon as possible, if not today.
and Zues.
This is the turn on of morning cigarettes altered by the prevailing forces of Greek mythology. Luckily my coffee wasn’t spoiled nor was my copy of Mojo., which is important as it is a costly mag with a crap cd glued to the front.
a poker hand has gone bad on mt. Olympus. but like all men fights it’ll be over soon and there will be a beer bought and laughter about the forgotten incident that kicked it off.
------------ the light has sometimes painful burning the light has sometimes painful burning but I miss the sun on my up turned face. the light has sometimes painful burning but I miss the sun on my up turned face. the light has sometimes painful burning but I miss the sun on my up turned face.
– Hoc Scripsi
Most of the greatest poets it seems really are assholes. I believe poets to be highly opinionated egotists bent of displaying to the audience the poets view, almost a forced voyeurism, of not only the world the poet occupies but the audience that reads them as well. As a poet you must be ballsy and arrogant to even consider participating in the art as an adult as a serious pursuit I mean to say.
hand some women a banana
and they eat it.
Hand it others
and they masturbate on the spot.
off the cuff.
but most would talk.
about it, indefinitely
meanwhile, I’ll
sleep as sound as poet
in post
coital recreation
aftermath.
– I wrote this – just now.
most of the above was written in response to comment on Jack Gilbert (poet) being an asshole when I just started writing the thing about the banana. I don’t know really where the fuck this one came from but I like it. I hope tomorrow when I wake up sometime mid-morning that it still holds – they don’t always ya know.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 