my formative years

i’ve had so many lives i

sometimes get them

confused. i did the

born again thing until

told i was using the

wrong bible. i’ve

always had shaky

hands, my fourth

grade teacher, miss

meyers, pointed it out

to the whole class.

they called me shaky. i

hated that bitch. i’m

guessing she’s dead by

now and not a day

too soon. in high school

bird head was my

nickname. that’s

when i started having

columbine dreams.

best friends joked

about my cancer.

when dr. baily stopped

scripting valium i

switched to quaaludes

chased with wild

turkey 101. i smoked

mexican until a buddy

turned me on to

vietnamese brought

back from vietnam. i

functioned on orange

sunshine and mickey

mouse microdot.

yellowjackets from a drug

store robbery helped me

sleep at night. at twelve i

smoked my first marlboro

in the back of a dingy

pool hall. forty-eight years

later i’m still being told

those things are going

to “put ya in an early

grave.” i pay my

respects to them with

flowers at their graves. i

say “fuck it” a lot.

at an early age i knew

nothing was worth more

than a lot of something. in

denver i joined the

socialist workers party but

got bored. everything i

know about dying i

learned from walter

cronkite on the late

news crying over president

kennedy in black and

white. john prine says

blood in a black and

white video looks like

shadows. i fell in love

with my first hardon.

others have since and

i of theirs. they’d rub

my belly like i was

buddha granting good

luck. i’ve always had a

good job till another

one came along. when

did i marry bob dylan?

fuck it, that’s another

whole poem in itself.

 

One thought on “my formative years”

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