The swallows have come back.

Its isn't fair I scream to Guadelupe.
She is easy on the eye- i think.
She gives me options of destruction- cocaine-a hammer-a clogged artery.
I take the cocaine.
But stow it away in the bottom of my stomach hoping the green balloon doesn't pop in the lining of tissue inside me.
And then I met you, had a fit of it all trying to cheat Guadelupe's request.
i read Cotazar, ate pudding, smoked opium, went to paris, kissed women.
The women i kissed you took pictures of naked in college.
Claudia was pretty and had thick legs.
Guadelupe found me in a bordello you left me in, she told me to pop the balloon myself.
But i stabbed her and insisted that I loved you umblasphemously. She writhed in pain as blood cascaded down her leg like a nick when you shave. I thought she was a sissy.
And i ran away. And didn't stay to take pictures of you with the cross dressing prostitue we decided to hideaway with in the Bordello. They would have been nice pictures. Blue, red, negative images of eachother.
I took your old Jesus and Mary Chain albums on the plane back with me. I also took your gray coat.
I will send it back to you before winter comes.
Gabrielle sent me his worn out horn in the mail this morning. I guess thats a sign. Its quiet beatup for someone heavenly and all, pathched up with sap and spit and chewn up gum wads: chipped to reveal the brass bits under its gold paint.