scream bloody murder

[constantine]

this is a fucking creep out
and it's getting worse
trying to keep it together - i really am
but it isn't easy
inter-dimensional portals open and close
unwanted guests arrive
situations coalesce and dissipate
like they never even happened
it gets dicey on many levels
i can handle it - i know i can
with or without your help
tell mom not to worry
i buried him in the backyard

[still.trucking]

Everything is coming up Proust these days
Poetry trips involuntary memory.

Her screams were ice picks in my heart.
That was April 18th 1962


If it is any comfort
I wonder why you are not a famous poet?

I guess you would rather be thin than famous (a paraphrase of something Kerouac said about fame)

Another thing I admire about you
You must have the amygdala of a cat
I know that because you handle criticism of your poems so well.

[constantine]

i bookmarked the gutenberg project link - cool!! i don't mind criticism, sometimes though it seems like a value judgment, subjectively-based. that's ok. sometimes it opens your eyes to things.

i've submitted to journals about a dozen times in my life. i keep meaning to, but school keeps me busy. i should try to allot time for submissions. been downloading my work from the sites to put in word documents in order to put together a manuscript.

[still.trucking]

I was thinking about that poem about east baltimore the one with the razor in your boot.

I posted a video as a homage to you.

I don't know about criticism Dino. If it is sincere yeah, sure.



I am not a poet, I suppose that is why I have never found anything in your poems to criticize.

I wish you well with your writing.

I hope you you never have the problems of a mid-
list author.

[constantine]

i forgot the title to that one. i'll have to check it out again. i used to know all my poems and the order in which i wrote them. those days are over.

[still.trucking]

Sorry I got that line wrong


Here is the poem:

<center>
Mobtown</center>

[constantine]

i have to learn how to do that one day - what is that called - embedding? i tracked down the poem after i read your reference to it. you remember the sip and bite or the white coffee pot on broadway - i tripped my ass off in the pot many early mornings!