She said she didn’t like
my latest batch of poems
because they were mostly
gender-based sex fantasies
that would only be read
who haven’t yet reached in
their inner child.
She must be some kind of a pervert.
…Back when I was young and tender, still in high school (1964), I found myself wandering around a bookstore one day, just looking to pass time. I came across a section marked poetry. I had never cared for such a thing before, thought it was for sissies. But there were some small paperback volumes that caught my eye. Must have been the freewheeling verse or something, the words seemed to be saying things I was feeling at the time. I stole three books in all – Ginsberg’s Howl, Gregory Corso’s Gasoline, and Lawrence Fehrlinghetti’s Coney Island of the Mind. I devoured these books, fell in love with them. Then I discovered Jack Karouac’s book On the Road.
And from there
I was long gone and dizzy
Summertime Miami beaches and everglades
Vagrant and busted
Blowin’ tie stick blues at bikinis and palm trees.” (from Church’s poem Kerouac)
I’ve been doing this poetry thing ever since. If I wasn’t thinking, reading or writing it, I ws cursing it. Whatever the case, I can’t live without it. I currently live in a dusty old loft near the campus of Brown University. My hobby is watching the spiders swing from their silk parachutes in search of prey. I drive taxi to pay my way and often dream about hiding out in a tropical rain forest.