I find myself liking Barry Gifford’s work more the more I read him. Here is a poem called “True Love.” And I didn’t even know he wrote poetry!
Your sickness made me a little sick, it's true—I still feel it Mayakovsky got down on his knees and declared his love to his last mistress a few hours after he'd met her Remember me at the hotel in Paris, on my knees in the lift? We're all the same men of too much passion and a little talent— some a little more than others We fool ourselves into thinking we're strong then complain the rest of our lives crippled by the consequences
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