poemas de invierno

Do you want to go the Lemon Grove
drink endless coffee
and sniffle with me

we stood in the snow

and smoked

studying international relations
the professor went up there
and said
this is why we don't bomb
and blow the heads of persians
off

little bloody persian heads

the professor walks around the room
and talks about war

i keep thinking

i like local politics
nobody talks about killing children
and fucking pipelines
they talk about storm water

the sun was out today
i took the car to get the oil changed
while they were working
i walked down the snowy sidewalk
to the music store
played an acoustic bass
i played No Doubt's Spiderwebs

I didn't play the blues

I played international relations songs

the professor looked at us
and said
you as americans want to kill persians
but you can't
because they would block off the Persian Gulf
and something about oil
and everything serious

I remember Cat Stevens

I pick up an acoustic guitar, I think it was a cheap fender or maybe an Alvarez and play Cat Stevens.

An Asian nun was there, she was talking about the flute.

I looked at her.

Thought she was cute.

Remembered seeing her walk down the street by the convent.

Got a coffee at the shitty Hubbard coffee shop

Old women were sitting together talking about things that concerned them and did not concern me.

Walked back to get the car

Remembered su cuerpo

como un melocotón

tu

bailando en mi cococina
como un conejito
con mi camisa Slayer
escondiendo de mi cosquillas

Do another interview

Hello my name is noah cicero
I'm a serious asshole
take me seriously
I have a movie
give me money
and suck my dick

my dick needs love

The professor says, "Have you ever been so lonely you joined a religion?"

Do you think of me standing in the snow
Walking around
in the sunshine
with the snowing crunching under my feet

do you think of me driving down
a road with giant pot holes
do you think of my car bouncing amongst these pot holes

do you think about me
being alone
with nothing to do
but dwell
on persian heads
because the sun has gone down
at five PM
it is too cold to fish
the fish have gone into a torpor
I'm not sure what a torpor is
but that is what the fisherman's magazine
told me

I believe that magazine
because a man is standing on the cover
holding a large fish

what if this winter
i got really drunk
and slipped on ice
and when my head hit the ground
my head hit a rock
perfectly
like really fucking perfectly
and knocked me out
and i died of hypothermia
what if i was that guy this winter
wouldn't that be a good death
for a young writer

John Keats died when he was 25.

John Keats wrote, "when by my solitary hearth I sit"

And John Keats wrote, "To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air!"

And then he was like

FUCK

I NEED TO DIE

then he politely died

I have surpassed Keats in years

I have no hearth and only two cigarettes left in my pack of Pall Malls

Soon

I will put my pants on

and drive to the gas station