I walked in the place a little after midnight, and it smelled like every poor choice I ever made, collected in one room forgotten dive bar.
There was a layer of visible smoke between your gaze and everything there, like gray silk hung over ugly pictures.
The kind of place where no one made eye contact, and we all just sat in our own corners of our own empty booths, drinking away our transgressions, while seeking out new ones.
That is where I first felt him, in that little bar in Boston that has no name and no sign, at whenever the fuck o’ clock.
The kind of place only suicidal drunks and whore’s worth their dime know about.
The kind of place Bukowski would have frequented to find wounded women to fuck, and caramel colored booze to drink.
A place he would have liked for being more ugly than him. Thing is, I found it beautiful.
And I think that is why he met me there.
Well, his ghost did, anyway.
She tied me up,
she tied me down,
from ceiling and from bed, be bound!
These ropes and cuffs around my wrist,
UNTIE ME NOW, I DOTH INSIST.
I need you all to gather near,
lean in close and lend an ear.
This is a tale that never gets old:
The Greatest Orgy Never Told.
Some of these are idealistic. Some of these are heartfelt. Some of these are too flowery for their own good. Some are raw. Some of these are just sparks that burnt out too fast. But all of them, all of them are woman. The very essence of. At least some that I have known. As intricate as Chinese puzzle boxes. Here, allow me to lay some out in front of you…