can you hear me?

so I was reading a blog written by this california gal who happens to know how to write a hell of a letter and I got inspired. she writes in an entirely different style than I do but I totally dig it no less. some of us are romantics in our prose and poetry, others are just straight up schizophrenic. here it goes, it's called 'can you hear me?"

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robert
you vain fuck,
carrying a comb in
your back pocket
like I would carry a flask
if I were a drunk.
I am no drunk.
but you are a vain fuck.

how did I die
last night?
with a migraine
and a belly full of wine.
am I a drunk?
no,
wine is a literary device.
it's red.
imagine it to be red, ok?
so it's red wine
and it's spilled on a white carpet.
soaking in,
party guests staring,
host angry,
sidewalk under feet
NOW!
no no
it's white wine
and it burns my throat
on a cool south african evening
in june.


robert
could you show me
how to grow that mustache?
really, I'm serious.
I'm rarely sarcastic
I grow a frenchmen's mustache.
or a pirates.

no more repeating
it's unflattering.
reader
do you find it as unflattering
as I do?
reader
did you realize this poem
isn't about her?
I know,
all of my poems are about her
even though she is someone I've
invented as if I were a painter
whose brush manifests figures.

as much as I am a drunk
I am a painter.
I paint color,
I don't paint with it
my fingers are earth
and my muscles rain.
that's where color comes from,
no?
reader?