# 5: “The Bin You are In”


“A Prelude to a Date”

The Aforementioned Prelude

The moon!

The moon was my only marker.

God used to play the fiddle and pass the tip jar.

It fed our souls shards of hope ground up like glass in the flour.

Shards like cocaine dust off, propelled my corpse, and propelled my lifeless body up the mountain roads and down to the piers of Brighton.

The road itself. Is now littered with bodies. Eyes dead potential spread far.

I see dead people every day, they look well rested.

Seeking security, hiding her shame, winking signals of desire and American dreams of glory that’s how I found her. She was bullet proof, body tested,

Her name was “Rich soon”, in Russian.

And an empty gun, strapped to the rib cage,

Is now just a Talisman of my losses, my heart’s apropos.

Let me grasp your luscious,

Coin tosses. 

“Penza’s where you came from?”

But this is Brooklyn,

Anything Goes.

Words you see are my specialty,

But not as powerful as poets pretend,

And mad ideas are often zealous demons, playing to a tiny of a fiddle,

  The lust never lies, a manipulative deep end.

Date 1

If one day I am a Cavalry officer,

And you’re the wife of some powerful man,

Happy plump, or neglected and in pain.

Illicit romance ours courts costly venture,

As these things can,

Complication breeds our latest disaster,

Anna Karenina set in New York Grad.

Passion fueled persecutions!

Weigh the cost and then the gain.

It’s true, for Anna it ended quite poorly.

But heroic fearless loves and lusts made plain;

I am no Alexi Vronsky, I am Vasa the Gunslinger!

And to stop the train of life from killing you;

I will simply rob the train

What’s it like to always win?

You sin, I am one to also sin

You arbitrate the volume, of the latent tales we spin;

The dirty poems that you’re in?

Bathtub djinn.

And call girl long legs longing;

Are all a call to come on in.

Break my own middle finger, and cut my own eyes, then grin.

With your razor blade precision.

Your decision right?

A call to take another walk; toward the boardwalk into night.

And the devil roots for no one.

Say how now Zeus, no Droog of mine.

I’ve caught the rapist in the bedroom yet again.

And there you are again; supine.

The body is but a picture of the powers,

Living with the strength and hate of 40 men.

I’m all in, but you’re just part in. 

We end, and then begin again. 

Taken, scattered, given.

Who loses, who can even ever win?

But you walk away each time they take me,

Take me to the bin!

Date 2

There are still many things, left to say.

For many more kilometers in the car, toward the wrong right way.

I’ll love you and I’ll hate you,

I’ll serve you, I’ll pretend I have some means to liberate you,

Speechless, feats less are; less important than building trust.

The lust oh the lust, built with tiny acts,

Artifacts of being friendly?

You did a number on me, kiss, correct, a thrust.

Facts build on acts.

I have merits.

I have a lot of merits!

Relax, relax the belt upon my waste the tensions linkers, the fucking distracts.

Romance is a meritocracy.

The best man can win, even if not the best endowed materially?

“That’s horseshit. Pay for dinner. You’re the son of the lesser aristocracy.”

Rich soon! Rich soon; bright eyed American dreaming said the goddess to the loon!

“I believe you enjoy the kiss of a romantic,” I once said.

“For the right price good bye I’d let you take my ass in a good enough hotel, use three condoms, don’t break the bed.” My heart, it bled.

Romance is winner take all, my kiss is a spent and useless bullet, 

My will, now poorly fed,

Scarlet letter now called Socialism, pumped up with something, 

But you pumped me full of lead. 

Over and over again, I do trust our children would be pretty,

Here you are in this foreign city,

Just a lover’s tryst of four at this point, pity.

she said.

“Reptile cold, is your Serge a shark or a shill?”

Do I bring you home to a loving dupe or a bad man, a tough guy?

You say white lies, but men, over this they kill!

You like my suit, you like my style? You say you can be bought?

Well I can’t yet, but I will.

I’m not here or there, but I’m in!

I’m fucking swear I’m in!

But Serge gave you a new Amex, 

And then the devils dragged me to the bin.

Date 3

George Washington points downtown,

I’m back in the heights on a walkabout.

Commanding the armies of the uptown players, the great unwashed heading to the district, to storm it, I shout;

“You’re so clever, you’re so unhappy, you’re a perfect fit!”

  The man in the Hightower isn’t Serge.

They can play all day, but they cannot deny the urge.

The urge has reinforcements!

Called to barricade, you cannot buy your lady, the price is just so much more than the peanuts you have paid.

I’ll tell you what came next.

Press on forward!

Into the holiday markets of Midtown!

Perplexed? Even slightly vexed by text?

The world now is an old place. 

They paid her two thousand rubles just to cum upon her face.

Did monsters win us all over with the promise of a dream?

They dragged her into to hotel brothels, they are fucking her so hard, but I’m powerless, I’m the one with any air to scream.

“I’ll dance with you again!” she said.

“Move you frozen hips if you would like these lips, 

“I’m gorgeous and you’re already dead.”

I have the will to come correct!

“Have your people fix your face, your background I have checked.”

And climb up so high into the hills beyond GW, show you I reflect,

Braveness, and boldness, and trueness and goodness!


And for times we were fooled into thinking it was just a form of post-Cold war love.

But the barricades formed,

And the sky broke upon from above,

I cannot see you, she said.

I have a broken face and left knee, 

I don’t always have my own eyes to even see. 

But I’m still not like normal men.

“I know, it’s wrong, I know your song, you want to save me, oh look a new poem, oh my, oh my little Mayakovsky, you are singing it again!”

I have broken face, three teeth word, I have bad left knee, sometimes my contacts fall out and I can only half see.

I long for her.

More than a noble war.

If I had the money to get us out of Babylon, I’d have tried.

Call back my ship, the Ocean is just too wide!

Plenty more I’ll have to call out; Daria!

When the uprising began. 

When the first rumbles came, it knocked me to my knees,

I was fearful, that what lay before me was just some bastard of vanity and delusions of grandeur. Evils comes in threes!

The road-it was littered with-my-bleeding-hearts-casualties.

The music over the stereo system,

Plays Roma anthems and Jamaican symphonies.

Which are these days both making footprints on my spine;

The notes entice out my dancing for her,

My demons. My foolish vain hopes,

And the two step to the grave, 

The impending black totals, more than any of the lives we have managed to save.

Well I don’t move my hips so easily these days,

I was known once for my overall thrust and constitution.

The solution, sorry babe I don’t have any solution.

I see, you’re all in! I’m never in, don’t you see?

Only when, I knew she saw, something in my eyes;

That reflected my awe for her back on to me. 

Enticing us both to carry on this dark game 

Playing out mostly in my head;

For six whole months of Brighton; dancehall, train, long quiet walks in the bitter cold, back to where; Serge’s bed.

For a man cannot truly see himself without hoping it love’s reflection dancing in the mirror on the ceiling of desire.

Lighthouse Motel? I know it. I wish I knew it better but I’m sure she knew it well.

Did monsters win?

The monsters almost always win,

But she was rooting for me, every time they took me.

Took me away in a plastic coffin to;

the bin.

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