Mr. Jack - A Novel | Fiction | Notes from the LES | Dreams

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All the Pretty Shit

Continental Divide

Amsterdam

Pearl in an Oyster

LES Morning Twilight

Mata Hari

Fuck You and Your Pale Shades of Blue

The Rat

Naked

Gwen

Sitting at the
Bar at KGB #13

Sitting at the
Bar at KGB #32

Mata Hari

She found me outside KGB
Smoking a cigarette
She thought I was the bouncer
And she told me her name was Mata Hari
And I let her think I was the bouncer
And told her there was a twenty-dollar cover 

She blew me
In the ticket both
To the Ukrainian theatre
And told me
She knew
I wasn't the bouncer
And she knew
There was no cover

I knew
She wasn't Mata Hari
And I knew
She would make me hurt
One day
But tonight
I didn't care

We checked into
The Saint Marks Hotel 
And went through
Four eight balls
In Seventy-two hours 
And knew I was hooked on her

We lived together
That year
Making love
On a shanty mattress
Her violin whispers 
Chasing away 
The hammer of winter
At the door

But that cold air
Didn't last forever
And when winter
Turned to spring
I couldn't shake the dew
Off her butterfly wings

Love
Is the most selfish emotion
When we turn the one of our desire
From
Who they are
To who
We want them to be 

She's gone now
And I promised myself
I'd put flowers on her grave
Every Sunday morning

But Queens is a long way away
And Sundays are now resigned
To addiction recovery