Well, they spelled my name wrong. However you spell it though, it’s my park. I found it on the UES. It is largely undiscovered, fashionably cultivated, and thoroughly close to several all-girl-academy’s. At any rate, life as a published poet, has become difficult. There were days when I agonized over my poetry, bled over it, and now, having recently sold my most-prized Sestina ($2), I feel somehow like agave. Agave is a foreign word, and while I am not keen on it’s definition it sounds just like the way I feel.
Well, its been an uphill battle being Jonny Cigar. I woke up this morning at 9:37am, returned my Smith & Wesson to it’s holster, and tried to recall what I had been shooting at the night before. I spent an hour pondering this, wondering at the same time if I would ever wash the sticky bourbon out of my hands before noon. I eventually washed my hands, and hoped that the Post would run an article about whatever I had been up to. I made phone calls to London. I got in touch with a beautiful woman I had had an affair with last fall: a dancer who was currently there on tour. I told her that I was broke and that no money was coming in, and I didn’t know when it would, and even considered going back to work at the mill. She was sympathetic and told me that I was a good old soul and that if it meant anything, she hadn’t had any better since June. June in January I said, and we laughed and hung up. I called up my bank to see just how much money was left and then had to call my accountant because I didn’t know what 16 figures was called. I laughed at the thought of the sympathy I had just received… but you know… I wouldn’t be able to go get a tuna sandwich without it. Well, today I may not have a thing at all, but I got lots of plans for tomorrow, just you wait…
