He wrote me a poem. If I only could find it now.
But basically, it says that He's a fool.
Weeks later, I ran into him again. He remembered my name.
He asked me out for a drink, but I said i couldn't make any promises
as I walked away into the night.
Earlier, I ran into an ex-lover who ended things with me without properly ending them.
What a Coward, I might add.
And then I went into the back of an Asian Parlor
where I was pounded, "Harder, harder," I demanded.
My buttocks--no exception to the pain. "Grab, Hold, Caress, do what you have to do!"
The night before I slept with a German named Hans.
We didn't speak the same language but he felt my pain and cried along with me.
Tonite, I ran into Him, with only a brief, not even a hello, as i quickly walked away.
I stopped and had a drink and some food and music at a nearby venue.
I ran into someone else I knew that knew Him, but didn't know.
She offered no words.
Later, I drifted toward Frenchmen Street again.
It's my town too, my Fuck You Very Much attitude took a stand. God damit!
But Does it Really Matter, to Him anyway??
Matt was there, fishing for a dime. A Writer making pennies, living in the Bywater.
At least he's making pennies.
A somewhat flirtation exchanged between us,
A man I don't want, but want to use as I please. He may not mind.
Definitely cute, but no desire, no will. At least not at this time.
Glasses--bonus points, a bit nerdy looking, Vincent would appreciate.
He still remembered my name. "Stick around" he suggested.
But I was done for the night, with his night only begininng.
I notice that He had left soon after his gig.
That was good, maybe I made an impression to be remembered by.
Maybe he wanted to get out to avoid any interaction between the Kunt and I.
Maybe he doesn't even think twice or even once about me.
I just want to punch her endlessly
And if I had a gun, I would shoot her.
Then maybe myself.
