Resolution

The Bowery Poetry Club has been conducting it's underground alternative to the St. Mark's Poetry Project New Year's Day Marathon for 16 years - this will be the 17th http://www.bowerypoetry.com/#Event/97572 This years theme is Dark Matters.

Two years ago, I attended and couldn't get on the open mic. Last year, I was, for the first time, asked to perform - we each get three minutes, no negotiations for extra time. Sirens seriously go off, so you have to make your three minutes count. I did a piece called The Perfect Man, which was later included in the current Uphook Press anthology, Hellstrung and Crooked. The video of that hour can be seen here: http://www.rfg3travel.com/bowerypoetryclub/boweryondemandny2010h2.html

The Perfect Man
I have found the perfect man.

He lives 3,000 miles away.
He’s a bipolar sex addict who swears speed relieves his ADD.
His girlfriend wears a strap-on, he has two failing businesses, a custody battle, and he writes a hell of a lot better than me.

He’s the perfect man.

Last time he visited, he drove like an old man, made rights on reds, got lost every time I left him alone.

I’d rescue him, lead him to his hotel; he’d treat me like a hooker that he doesn’t have to pay.

Perfect.

Degradation, dissolution, dissipation, all wrapped up into one large
6’5, out of shape package; I suspect a touch of Asperger’s, too.

He is the perfect man.

He only gets my sense of humor when we’re online, at least I think he does, because he writes lol and I answer with hahaha, I refuse to write lol, or to call him by any of his four first names.

My perfect man is a bigger slut than I am.

We toss fuck stories at each other like shuttlecocks.
The dwarf on the greyhound bus, a jazz trio, a random Allman Brother – ok those are mine – his usually involve first cousins, teachers, sisters and their aunts –his four drag queens trump my three Jacks.

He likes to have phone sex but he never says anything interesting.
Once, I forgot to move my car and got a parking ticket because it took so long to cum.
hey, he said, don’t blame me.

He’s my perfect man.

We fight about nothing but syntax and lyrics.
We only watch porn and we bring our own toys.
We hate each other more than we hate ourselves and less than we hate everybody else.

He’s perfect.

He knows the difference between lay and lie, but I beat him at spelling. I’m always glad to see him and never miss him when he’s gone. Once we had a feeling; it only lasted a minute and I got fourteen poems out of it.

He’s the perfect man for me.
He’s perfect.

This year, I was asked to perform in the 9-10 slot, and to co-host, with Big Mike, the 10-11 hour. So that's a lot of change in a short period of time.

I get frustrated with myself over the time I have wasted, but try to channel it into making every performance count.

The New Year's Day event will stream live from the Bowery, consult homepage for more info http://www.bowerypoetry.com/#Home