boxing with hemmingway in vietnam:

[Love's Bastard]

boxing with hemmingway in vietnam

*************
In Hanoi I boxed with he
mmingway
12 hours a night, fourteen, sixteen, more
I boxed with $1.50 vodka
10cent horrible beer
I boxed with English girls
Who cut me with their teeth
Screaming my name
Who brought me to films from Iran
And holly wood for 1$ dvd paradise of rows
Of Cds for .50cents of rows and rows
In the alleys in the little alleys!

I boxed with the hanoi girls
The hookers I bought them iced tea
And listened to their dreams
To go away
To get married
To speak good english
To beabletospeaklikeme
To beableto SPEAK

I boxed on bamboo floors
Under bamboo floors
I boxed on the mattress of the devil
Who told me she was immune to everything
To everything bad and wrong
Because she was the devil
And I saw her terrified it was true

I boxed into the walls of awesome drunkness
Drunkness that you wouldn't know
Drunkness that no one can know

On the back of a scooter
Heading in to heavy hanoi traffic
Heavy traffic and you're weaving
AND GOD F*** BLESS
You fall off and only screw up your knee
And you drink again drunkness

Legal, hardcore, f*** drunkness
That you can do in places
Only read about

I boxed with the morning doors
And the wild look of business men
They are going to do Business!
And i am drunk, boxing Hemmingway
In the shadows
eating a deep fried sparrow
another 10cent beer
my fist made into my hand
As hemmingway laughs in my face
As I am headed into it again

The drunken boxer
The drunken boxer In vietnam
Slamming the night with my cigarettes
And cheap weed and broken hookers
Who wave because they know
They can see me boxing
And I don't care for them
I care about Hemmingway

I box into the evening
Alone in my room
A lot of neighbours stay awake
To hear me Play
All night long
The same songs I wrote
I drive them nuts
They don't sleep
thirty years ago it was bombs
now it is the crazy music
Of the boxer in Vietnam

I box Hemmingway
Uuntil I am tired
Until Hanoi and I are tired
Tired tired tired tired
tired tired tired tired

And I make for the window
I crash through the glass
I fly away until I can see her
Small and pretty
And green
Like she should be

And kissing Papa goodbye, too
*******************
publishlove.com

[J Hillenburg]

Holy florking shiznit! That was a brawling, sassy, leering
poem. Reminded me of a Sam Peckinpah movie in verse.
Strong Bukowski influence, but marvellous nonetheless.