Confessions of Wiliam by Steve Bedle

March 3, 2011 § 1 Comment

Confessions of William

by Steve Bedle

William Burroughs in 1983.

Jack, you bloated ol’ sonuvabitch,
you left me in this world, so lonely.
Sunken-eyed me:
black hat black coat
magic cane.
Beneath rainy lamp post
I emptied needles
full of criminal prayers
onto the pages of these destruction manuals.
I wandered the sad broken bars
of paradise side-streets,
haunted by the specter of Joan
at the bottom of every empty shot glass.

Allen,
where are your ribs for my elbow
when young, pretty men strut by?
Gone are the days of gone nights.
The hipsters, deadsters.
We were the saints cast into the desolation
of our own wounded womb,
right Jack?
We found the peaches and avocados
and tomatoes of America ripe with madness,
didn’t we, Allen?
But the mad road has ended
and I’m so beat I just wanna rest.
Dr. Benway signing off.

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