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POETRY: Fourteen and Still Never Been Laid.

I met a genius boy once

strolling down the street

Sweet as can be and a driven look

tingling in his eyes

Passing by I paused softly

because the smell of death

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clung to him like fabric softener

beneath the predictable CK One cologne

It was a shock to find that fragrance

at so ambivalent an age:

Fourteen and still never been laid

I asked his name and even though

he seemed three years younger he smiled

wistfully and extended slim fingers

That boy was a writer and my hand

fit perfectly in his

Ah, we were victims of the moment

yet too innocent to care

Bonnie and Clyde pre-brutal murder

Maybe Courtney and Kurt post bullet-in-the-brain

As we fidgeted youthfully on the impatient sidewalk

he talked about schools and parties

Stupid things he didn't know enough to get

that I'd never give a damn about but

I think he liked the way the jeans clung

to my depression-starved hips

Through the practiced insipid high school kegger chitchat

his aura (if you're a hippie reject who believes

in that sort of thing) was tinged with underrated pain

and Doors song lyrics

Morrison's deep voice haunting our futures

It was tragic and I knew I could love him but

we nodded once more and walked past each other

because just like Jimi and Janis and Jesus

we'll inevitably end up living too hard and

dying just in time.


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