6/15/2007

My writer friend Graham was over
for a visit
and some drinks
and
conversation-
mostly about writing
He wanted to see my new shit
sooooo
I showed him
and
he read it all
and
he liked it, really liked it
said I was on my way to becoming
a hell of a writer
See,
this friend of mine
Graham
is a damn fine writer
a real word fanatic
a master storyteller
and
a genius at wordplay
so
getting a compliment from him about my art is
highly rewarding
We drank and talked
about Bukowski
Burroughs
both Fante’s
Selby
Carver
Nat West, etc.
We eventually got into poetry
Graham said he hadn’t written
a poetry piece in years
then said poetry was writing at its most bare
down straight to the bone
into the marrow
Then I realized something:
I don’t even know what poetry is
really
I'm an unschooled-nearly-dropped-out-of-highschool-'hood
from the poor side of town
I have no idea what it is that I think
I’m doing
as far as style or form is concerned
no clue what-so-ever
except
for trying
to break and tear down this wall I’ve built up
to protect myself from years
and miles
and hours
of pain
frustration
heart ache
suicide
addiction
self-hatred
and depression
See-
what I’m doing
here
now
is opening my heart up
trying to let you-the reader, whoever you may be- inside
to get into the real
bare bones
heart and blood and flesh
of me
I’m giving you me
naked
unprotected
and vulnerable
on the page for all to see
That-
precisely
is what
I'm doing
and why
I’m doing this
for you and I to connect
for me to open up my heart (and that's not easy for a macho madman like me to do)
and for you to see
and hear
and smell
and touch
and goddamn FEEL
what is
my heart's purest
thoughts