Autobiography no. 14

The first woman I ever loved gave me
Bukowski, Regina Spektor, Joni Mitchell,
and a hollow ball of cells that died in a doctor’s office
somewhere, unmourned.

Though it has been many years I see her
each time a pretty girl with curly hair walks by.
I do not know where she is now
but I hope she never has to see me.

Bukowski no. 35

Some mornings the alarm goes off and you are sure

that it is for someone else but you realize it goes on too long

so you push all the gin off your heart and bring silence to the world

for nine long minutes.

You don’t remember why you drank so much

or any of the reasons that explain why you are shackled to pain

but after a few minutes of being awake

you remember everything that has ever happened to you

so as soon as you can you start drinking again.

Autobiography no. 13

When I was a younger man I believed I was as evil as anyone,
and when they shelled the Buddhas of Bamiyan into oblivion
I thought I could have a home in a dark brotherhood like the Taliban.
I looked around and there was nothing
ancient or timeless or gigantic to crush beneath my hands
and the only beautiful thing I could find to destroy
was myself
so that is what I did.

Bukowski no. 34

“That’s the problem,”
I said,
“You get everything figured out and think life has rules like algebra does,
but you never really know what you’re talking about.
You’re not even that fucking good at algebra.”

She came in through the bedroom door
with her shadow like the obscene curves that every woman has if you look too long,
and she asked me a question
while she stood there looking like a goddess or a piece of fruit or a grave
and she said,
“Sorry. What were you saying? I couldn’t hear.”

I told her that it did not matter, and that was the only time I ever told her the truth.
Before she opened my door, I did not know she was still in my house.

I do not know why I talk to myself so much,
But it would be harder to explain my motivation for talking to her.

Junilla

I.

My father, Lucius Aelius Sejanus, had been born of the equestrian class
and rose to honor as commander of the Praetorian Guard.
When I was still learning to walk and dress myself,
the princeps civitatis, Tiberius Julius Caesar,
left the city for an island in the sea
far from where his fears grew fangs.
The legacy and power of his adopted father
he entrusted to the loyal hands of my father.
But one fell day, Tiberius returned.

II.

Nurse handed me a crude clay cup and bade me drink,
though a sip was as bitter as the touch of thorns upon a thigh.
I made a face at the taste but she told me
that a girl of nine years needed courage.
I am eight but in the village Nurse grew up in they count the years differently.
I always obey and so I gradually drank the cup and the dregs were sweet.

My mouth felt thick and when the soldiers came for me
the sunlight felt as though it would blind or drown me
and they were all so very tall.
One giant slowly brushed his palm against the pommel of his gladius
and said “Come child, we go to meet your father.”

-But days ago my father died a traitor’s death
and he was thrown down the Gemonian Stairs.

I walked or rode or was carried,
I do not remember, but suddenly
I saw the Forum and the silhouette of the Capitoline Hill.

A man waited and he was dressed as all the others
but his eyes were black as crusts of bread left too long in a fiery oven
and wide as Diana’s waxing moon.
He walked to me, looked down, shook his head,
then roughly grasped my arm.

The stairs were still red from sunlight or my father and he dragged me up the steps
and before I knew it we were no longer climbing.
He pulled me to a nearby cart covered in straw
and said “I am so sorry, child.”
and he looked sorry for a moment
then his face twisted into a mask and he said
“A virgin may not be put to death.
It is the law of our Father, Rome.”
He put a cord around my neck and threw me on the cart
and tore my clothes where they were fastened to my waist
and though I had been given courage I was afraid and felt the pain of flames.

As he hurts me his eyes glance downward and he does not look sorry anymore.
I cry enough to flood the Tiber’s banks.
I beg and plead but the gods do not hear.
His hands are around my throat and I notice that he is smiling.

Autobiography no. 12

-You stick with her and you’ll be rich, ya dig? Not “I got a two car garage” rich, but the Fuck You kind of rich that means you go to other countries on vacation, not to your momma’s house. Kind of rich that eats steak every night if they want, ‘cept your girl is a vegetarian so I guess you ain’t gone get that.

-Parnell, I asked him, what is the fucking point of having money if I don’t get to eat rare red meat whenever I want?

-Hell I don’t know. Get a different woman then. Get fifty of them. Shit, you’re a young man and you got a roof over your head, food in the cabinet, money on that bank card for beer and anything else you wanna buy. I don’t wanna hear no more about this “I don’t wanna live” bullshit, man. Go cheat on your woman with the first pretty girl you meet at a bar. Go buy a ball of coke and get back to me about all that suicide bullshit. There’s plenty to live for. It ain’t gonna be happiness but it’ll feel good.

I finished the beer I’d bought and he finished one of the beers I bought him
and I gave him five bucks for breakfast and said goodbye
I walked to the door of the building my condo was in and swiped an electronic key at the door to make a light turn from red to green as a lock disengaged then rode an elevator up nine floors
and a few hundred feet away from where I laid my head on a pillow with clean sheets around me
he went to sleep in one of the trees in MacArthur Park the same as he did every night.
I slept in a bed then. I don’t anymore.

Autobiography no. 11

She was furious and I remember rolling my eyes a little
Because she was just a woman
And she hit her fists against my chest
And cut her fingernails against my eyelashes as I stood there.

She kept saying saying absurd things like
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
And I didn’t think it was the right time to say
“Woman, it was not my job to tell you that you were in love with a junkie”

So I let her keep hitting me because she wasn’t very strong
And she left him and then was with him again
And I didn’t give a fuck either way.

Autobiography no. 10

She quoted a musical at me, saying
“You’ll never share in love until you love yourself.”

and I thought to myself
that I never told her that I wanted to be loved,
that all I ever mentioned was my despair and impotent desire to die
and that I liked Russian writers better than those of other nations.
I said “That is an interesting point.”

After I got back to my apartment and unlocked the door
and went to my room and laid down on the carpeted floor
where I keep my pillow and the quilt my mother made me,
I thought more about the miniature conversation we had.
Many people I know give advice that would be solid as stone
if only they were not speaking to a madman.
In retrospect it seemed an almost cruel thing for her to say,
though I know she did not mean to draw blood.
Of course I agreed with her. She was telling the truth,
but she didn’t seem to know that the coin had another side.
If you don’t love yourself you know that no one will ever love you
but you have to wake up every day anyway
so that is what I am going to do tomorrow.