half the world
--for oscar varona
there are bars in spain
that i think i need to go to, oscar,
places where you’ve promised me
and more booze than i could ever imagine.
and i can imagine a lot.
so okay let’s cut the bullshit.
we are friends and writers,
and we both realize the stigma
that goes along with that.
with being friends more than being
i guess it’s my turn to talk in hyperboles
as i sit here in new york, drinking wine
pissing pittsburgh and all the poets
that have tried to kill it
and everything else.
at least we are not boring anyone with
and who knows.
one day i might wind up at your door,
finally sick of america
and full of the hunger
and what will you show me
other than dried mountains
and a place to get a good glass
hopefully a good time,
and a quiet time full of
the rich, comedic conversation
of two writers scorned in their pathetic homelands.
and if not that, than at least i hope
you can touch me with a kind hand
and a few soft words
and i’ll do the same
because, oscar, that is more than i could ever
hope to get from the drags who call themselves
writers and friends
in this god forsaken country.