almost paddy's day whiskey drinkin' um!

[bennie2]

(unless you're interested, please ignore the indulgent drivel that follows...it isn't beat, it's just drunken lack of editing...)

there isn't a sunflower that bleeds
not that i've seen
not like an owl or a tree
or a small stream rolling in a trickle down a scottish hill

i've developed a sunflower itch.
small glitch
one. small. lie.
you take those feather petal individual "she loves me"s and smack them to the vein of you with no restrain, not a bit of dare remains in you... and anyway, she loves you not, as you get to the bottom of the pile, the areola of the petal plucked plume bleeds.

she bleeds like that for an hour and each drop she bleeds i cry.

i cry her blood
i steal her dreams
i wish her thoughts
and miss her smells
her jagged hair eyes
softening to a smile
slowly a cry
slowly a cry
gently a sudden heartbreaking child

i love her.

this waterfall sunflower daydream girl
her eyes.
the rain
no blake light tragedies here though
no box house hills to cry over

--
i thought of another tonight
the girl from journalism
the grey eyed girl
eyes the colour of a Russian rainstorm on a communist square
the sable covered pagan mystic
her hair, an ironic question mark around the words of her body
and her soul, a lounging lizard on a hot rock resting

i loved her too
as much as beauty can be loved
like a statue of venus
or a particular blade of grass
the first daffodil
she was girl
she was girl
she WAS girl
real girl - woman
she was woman of the soul
her heart was made of broken parts
her heart was made of splinters
her heart was born to carry pain
her heart. her heart
born in a timeless age
no mirrors except for her eyes
no pretence
i read her some plath once (she liked plath and i was barely discovering her)
in the halls of a college
with my book in my hand and my quivering voice
my bassy monotone ugly voice
"you do not do, you do not do..."

she shed a tear on the bus as she recalled it that night
i did nothing but give her a srunched up face

her eastern european face
soft and graceful, almost consumptive

--

truth: i thought i loved a girl
realisation: i still don't know what love is

when "that" love ends, does love end? if so, ignore me, if not... i never loved. i still feel love without knowing it. i've felt appreciation, respect and even admiration. i've received compliments, laughter upon my jokes, kisses, sex from various girls assorted selections, a few fingers in my arse on a few interesting nights, dream like states, opiated post sex death...

i don't know what love is! MY FAMILY LOVE ME. not that love though!

this "letter" still plays on my mind but, this letter being an excuse for ME to pick MY scab also plays on my mind. I don't want to hurt her by showing her the blood from my too-early-to pick wound.

I read a new thing she'd written on litkicks. why the fuck did I go there?!!!!

she's still alive, was my first thougth. and I felt sad.
she has started to write again. and i felt amazing happiness.
she'll share these words with another. and my heart. broke. again.

and my sunflower bled right through my skin. its sharpened points of petals poked my eyes. her filthy stock ripped fresh diabolical wounds in my lacerated dreams and bled me black to brown to green.

i wish i could stop missing her.
when does "forget" begin?...


... because I feel like climbing high just to drop.

[Arcadia]

how much did you drink, bennie???!!!!!!! beautiful words, even whiskie-drunk!!!!!!! send them to her in a bottle!!!!!
cheers & happy San Patricio!!!!! my virtual-irish salutes you!!!!!!!!!

[westcoast]

i love this un four-leaf-clovered sunflower romp. you are very talented!

~westcoast

[bennie2]

arcadia - thank you, and I had almost a bottle. almost. and a few beers. I was in the mood for drinking, playing guitar and listening to music when I started. By the end, I just wanted to finish the bottle.

westcoast - thanks for the compliment. they're nice to read.

[stilltrucking]

I am trying to imagine who is your muse here bennie
Princess Cheese Cake?
It can't be her allthough I hope she writting again too.

[stilltrucking]

sorry bennie
I don't know how it sounded
dumb I guess
maybe just showing my age
I have forgotten about love
Women hardly exist for me anymore
I am grateful that are poets here to remind me

Perhaps you don't remember princess cheesecake (your words)
She used to write the most heartbreakingly desolate stories about men and women.

I have not seen anything by her in years except opinion pieces.

..>>