He called like he usually did, his voice sexy and deep, not hysterical, which
he can sometimes get when something’s on his mind, something I have to
ferret out , burying my muzzle in the shit of his psyche.
He said we couldn’t have dinner, that he was broke and, ‘some people have
to work,’ implying something about my life.
He said that I was fine, but, ‘a little too much’ and wondered if I wouldn’t
be happier with someone more complex, more my ‘speed.’
And I said no! No! Simplicity is my goal, what can I be? What would you
like me to be?
“Nothing.” he said, and hung up.
He Said, He Said
Excerpt from a poetry reading with Harold Norse, 1986.
(c) Rob Goldstein 1986-2017 All Rights Reserved
Really enjoyed this. I follow Sheldon Kleeman and he mentioned your blog.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for your visit and comment! I’m glad you like this!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Read it appreciate
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks for the visit and the comment! 🙂
LikeLike
I must have known his clone… Too bad I didn’t push him on out the door the first time he came up with something like that…
Compelling snippet, Rob. Good choice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Teagan. I found a draft of this piece recently and recalled that I had a tape of a reading of it. It’s been ages since I’ve given a public reading.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’ve missed you, Robert.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hey there! I’ve been thinking about you. I hope all is well.
LikeLike