I arrived in Venice on some particular day
in some ridiculous month that I care to not
note because it's irrelevant. I was there
recording music and singing at a producer -
- friend of mine's house -- when on the way up
I happened to bump into a very nice shoe shiner
pal of mine outside of the building.
It was a beautiful day and all the palms were
tilted just so. I, a poet, was a bit whacked
on the usual(s) when I got to talking to Jim.
He buffed my shoes, and we smoked a Willy.
Humboldt Skunk #2. I was thoroughly waxed on my way
up the stairs. Jim and I had been discussing monatomic
gold. He was really smart for a black guy. Not that
blacks are dumb, but the majority are kept-that
way by the Man's system. Jim was good people.
We'd shoot heroin sometimes, and then go kick
pigeons. Once, we shot this porn with three
toothless skanks that had been 86'd from the 86'd...
(a bar off of Market across from Angelica Houston's house)
if you can fucking believe that! I headed up stairs to
the third floor. That's where Mike's apartment/puzzle/
studio was. A sweaty fat man ran past me with a T-shirt
that read "I'm with stupid". I wondered where that fat
man was off to. Upon arriving I snorted a fat line of coke,
and told Mike about the sweaty fat man. We smoked a joint,
and I cracked open a 40 oz. Mike cued the mic, and I stepped
up to sing, and poetically transplant my seed to the masses.
My mouth opened, I was staring at a cobalt ocean, and that's
when the fat man passed by the window... On the outside.
He had jumped, and he had landed on Jim, and lived.
But Jim... Jim was black, therefore it took awhile
for the ambulance to get there. R.I.P Jim.
A contest entry
- CONTEST: Even More Memories! Tell Me About Your Past Tragedies! by Barry Hodges.
400 points, ended January 15, 2008, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 11 of 11
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inventive explosiveness!
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I never noticed many negroes in Italy myself.
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venice beach california.
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Are there a lot of negroes there?
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Certainly, it's warm, and people feel sorry for you. Plus, you can perform just about anything, and still get bus fare home. Not to Africa, but where-ever.
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So Burroughs, great work, even a wedjat could understand.
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Can you imagine my happiness when I logged on and there on the front page was a new on by my favorite guy! I was thrilled!
I love this, and I think it fits what the person running the contest asked for. I love the way you write all the details out, it is as if the reader is there with you.
Anna
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It is amazing what a weird crowd of people live in Venice. I myself have drunk the blood of several gondoliers.
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Venice, California...
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How come you posted this twice? Maybe you hit the submit button twice or something. I really liked this one though. It's a different approach for a political poem. I really enjoyed the layers that you left for us in your story telling. It was a kind of sad but true thing about Jim and getting the medical help he needs. I don't know if this has anything to do with anything that really happened to you but it sure was colorful.
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amusing...
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