One for Anthony Patch

25 Jun


“All the distress that he had ever known, the sorrow and the pain, had been because of women. It was something that in different ways they did to him, unconsciously, almost casually – perhaps finding him tender-minded and afraid, they killed the things in him that menaced their absolute sway.”


                                                                                                – F. Scott Fitzgerald


One for Anthony Patch


In futile lives we shed

our cuffed earnestness

like sweat

and when the handsome man wakes like an ocean

there is no gulf left

just a vast empty space

that surfaced miracles and moralities and

false hopes alike

in the manner of a blind soldier dancing

while the smoke in the corner sings “My Country, ‘Tis of Thee”.

In the past her skin was porcelaneous  

another dangerous and tender venture

like the city we lived in easy

an evening she fell asleep in her glasses and woke fearful of what one might see at night

with a glorious lunacy

and with passionate arms and wet flesh which skirred rhythmlessly to rasping jazz

that always sounded like a religious dawn

merciless upon approach

and it all seemed like buying a blowjob on the Upper East Side with a bag of nickels unrolled

like exile in romantic upkeep

like wet clouds made of delicate cinders and dry cement falling around you during a lovesome mescaline journey home

it was like she called the nuthouse,

like a call to the stables,

saying “you need to get less crazy so you can see me, so you can fuck me…”

and then you find yourself

walking along a drunken street like a narrow plank splintering your feet

waiting for that phonecall to seem new and reviving


and then during an empty pause she’d excuse herself

saying that “when I told you to be free

I didn’t intend to mean from me”

What, unfortunately

we never remember

is that it’s never too late until they burn or bury you

in that constant company of strangers…


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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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