cows in art class
good weather
is like
good women-
it doesn’t always happen
and when it does
it doesn’t
always last.
man is
more stable:if he’s bad
there’s more chance
he’ll stay that way,
or if he’s good
he might hang on,
but a womanis changed
by
children
age
diet
conversation
sex
the moon
the absence
or presence
of sun
or good times.
a woman must be nursed
into subsistence
by love
where a man can become
stronger
by being hated.
I am drinking tonight
and I remember the cows
I once painted in Art class
and they looked good
they looked better than anything
in here.
I am drinking tonight
wondering which to love and which
to hate,
but the rules are gone:
I love and hate only
myself-
they stand outside me
like an orange dropped from the table
and rolling away; it’s what I’ve got to
decide:kill myself or
love myself?
which is the treason?
where’s the information
coming from?
books…like broken glass:
I wouldn’t wipe my ass with ’em
yet, it’s getting
darker, see?
(we drink here and speak to
each other and
seem knowing.)
buy the cow with the biggest
tits
buy the cow with the biggest
rump.
present arms.
the bartender slides me a whiskey
it runs down the bar
like an Olympic sprinter
and the pair of pliers that is my hand
stops it, lifts it,
golden piss of dull temptation,
I drink and
stand there
the weather bad for cows
but my brush is ready
to stroke up
the green grass
straw eye
sadness takes me all over
and I drink the beer straight down
order another shot
fast
to give me the guts and the love to
go
on.