How She Fucks 2010

I am moving smoothly.

The trains of the Way are fucking up again. They're going here, they are not going there. It's fucking freezing in the city today, bitter cold. Bitter. The wind doesn't even have to blow and it feels as if it's jabbing an icicle dildo up your ass. I can do without this shit. I want Spring already. I'm too tensed, too stressed. I'm still bent out of shape about my father. I'm worried. Still worried. I'm not at my top speed.

I don't have goals. I noticed that. I don't have goals. What happened to that. I mean I want to get my book published this year that's a given, but I don't have any short term goals, like finding a good woman, a meaningful relationship with someone. Someone that I can set my churning thoughts and dreams upon. A person of integral beauty. Someone worthy of my energy. I'm searching the world for someone, that's a good goal it think. Are you out there?

I need a female friend, someone to confide in, someone to sex when I need closeness, someone to see through my dark thoughts with. I need to look in her eyes and see me reflected back, and in seeing me, make changes. I need to make changes . I need someone not superficial so as to judge me on my status, I need someone of intellect and charm to both stimulate and excite me. I need her to be unselfish, because who the fuck needs someone who thinks the world revolves around their ass?

2010 is calling for me. I think I hear it. I think I need to redirect my focus for me. But that's the biggest challenge.. I DON'T KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM ANYMORE. I have NOT been me for so long I don't know who I am. Honestly. I know that there are times that you don't really know who you are but I'm not talking about that silly shit. I'm talking about having an INTRUDER in your thoughts for an entire year, drawing pictures on the walls of your head, locking doors of your thinking, forcing you to narrow your focus on one person, one thing, one object, one idea. Closing off your world and your ability to interact in it.

Tighter and tighter. Like a garrote around your neck, it draws your focus as it chokes your life, and then it's gone....

What goes through your mind? Wha? Yeah...you have that blank thought. Wha? That's how I feel. I have a blank thought. I have NOTHING in my head. I have one silly thought that must be dismissed for something more constructive. I have to make a road, a path for 2010. This is MY New Year's Resolution, to make a path. To lay down a road to somewhere, to someone. Maybe pick up something sexy on my way to Vegas, and fuck her in the back seat of my 69 Chevy.

OH stop being a Hobo, hobo. I think, even now that I have my freedom, my thoughts are now mine to deal with, I'll alway be a hobo. Even when I have money and a home and a squeeze, I'll still have aspects of me from the streets. The streets have formed me, shaped me, made me the bastard that I am today. I think of this as I look at this hot Puerto Rican girl on the train. Ass in her jeans like J-lo, narrow waist, nice, high, firm tits. Hot lil motherfucker, even bundled in her coat and hat. I envision her in a hot room, fireplace, windows displaying a snowy backdrop. Her on a wide bed, fully dressed in all her winter regalia, and me peeling her out of it all. Gloves, hat, scarf, tossed aside. Her giggles, her laugh, speaking filthy in Spanish. Pulling the sweater from her head, standing between her legs, unbuttoning her button fly jeans.

"14th street," the conductor wakes me from the ride. I make it to the SHOUT OUT. Joe is our Feature and he does an excellent job. He is a very good poet and I drift away in his words. I am always lost in the readings at the SHOUT OUT. Going from thought to thought. I love poetry, I love prose, I love women. I realize that now that the fucking ABILIFY is out of my system...I love women. I am too sweet for words. I am too good. I guess that's the fat man's curse. Women find them appealing...as friends. But when it comes to fucking, well they're far too jolly. Ho ho ho.

Funny, I don't feel jolly. I feel horny. I talk to some of the male poets about sex and the new year, and not many people are getting any. I don't feel so strange. I'm rethinking what I want in 2010. That's what January is all about, figuring out what you want for the rest of the year. I think I want ass. Nice, round J-lo ass. Tons of it. More ass than NASA has Astronauts. Women in 2010, stay the fuck away from the hobo, because I'm going to be sizing your asses up.

Just take it as a warning. Don't say that I didn't tell you so. My brother and I go and get chicken after the show, and I tell him how close it came to me going down South to take care of my father. Things are good now, but one never knows. Just talking about it brings it all back in my thinking. I am stressed again. Shit.

The trains are still fucked up on the way. A strawberry blonde jumps on the train , panting from running for the train, her pale face flushed at the cheeks and nose. Her eyes sparkle. That's what I love in a good woman, sparkling eyes. She looks at me, looks away, finds a seat. I love the color of her hair, she is fairly attractive, wrapped like a snow bunny. My stare makes her nervous so I look away. I shake my head, and wonder, as my poem postulates, how she fucks. What she looks like when you're drilling away inside of her. Is her face as pale and flushed as it is now? Is that strawberry blonde hair all over the place? Is that rose petal mouth open? I wonder.

"96th street station!" The conductor says. I leave. Hit the cold, head home to the space pod. The quiet, aloneness of my home, my life. My sanctum. Do I like it here? Do I want to be alone here, or is this the bullshit that I convinced myself into. My bed can fit two people, hell, I've had women in it before. Why stop?

2010 is when I redefine the hobo. When I remake him in a new image. One less alone. One that is less apt to turn down female contact. One that wants to increase his circle of human contact. Looking to increase his exposure, now that the DRUG is out of his brain chemistry. I want to open up a little. I think this is the year of my change. Of my reaching my personal potential, free of the anchors that weighed me down and proved to be useless to me in 2009. They did not enrich me, build me up, just take. I don't need that anymore.

I stand over my New Altar. Redesigned for 2010. I ring my bell and focus on what I want, staring at my lucky bamboo. I want new things, new people, new exper- iences, new enlightenment. I want to do it all this year. It could be my last.

I wonder how that strawberry blonde fucks.

Hobobob