Advice to young readers.

Hopefully the lapse into free verse in my last post did not leave the lyrical foundations of your psyche shaken.

The last--or maybe the second to last--thing on Earth I would wish to do as a poet, a prophet, or a purveyor of fine, rectified spirits would be to send you out lurching into the night--like a little lost lamp--with nothing concrete to hold on to.

Concrete may not be the most comforting substance to grasp--I prefer men wrapped in mink--but, as a writer, I find that whatever delicacy concrete lacks in terms of Art, it more than makes up for in rude Reality.

Enjoy.


Love is a Luxury

Love is a luxury you can’t afford;
I know that this knowledge may cause you pain
But who has time for tenderness, or
All of this messing around in the rain?

Come over here, precious, under this light:
Now, let me have a good look at you.
You probably gave your Mom quite a fright
When you emerged from that Bar and said, “Boo!”

I am just kidding. Isn’t Life funny?
Almost nobody has a good time—
Even on days when it’s more or less sunny...
Well, here’s my advice and a dime.

The lips, they cost extra. So does the bed.
And a goon with a gun collects the fee.
So, don’t let his liquor go to your head.
You will be charged for everything—you see?