Patti Smith


black hair black eyes black boots

black lungs

doesn't know where she's going

knows all about where she's been

smells like sweat

has bad teeth

ties her shoelaces with a fork

combs her hair with a knife

driving round the world in a '57 cadillac

making promises never to go back

setting out on a journey so hungry

eating dreams

in rooms with white walls--they left stains.

sex that healed a nation

sex worth telling stories about.

black voice

cobra moan

sting like a bee


blue jeans

sees though the veil

start a band 

pony up

who needs a pretty dress?

poet before you were a singer

writing stories in bed

crushing on the likes of williams s. burroughs

on the likes of SAM SHEPHERD?!

of Allen Ginsberg


I like you. 


Didn't know you'd be the one telling the stories. (thank god.)

comfort in the cracks, in the in between spaces

"I did it because Patti told me to!"

wrapped the pigeon in newspaper clipping and set it on fire on a roof in brooklyn while I read Walt Whitman. 

threw a party just for fun, for art:

"we need to remove all the 21st century technology from this room. NOW."


That kind of person doesn't look male or female that kind of woman who had to learn to become woman because she was no good at it. 

She was surprised by the incident of her breasts. 

Alarmed at the possibility of her legs. 

Shackled by her own desires

Trying to be something they didn't dream up until 30 years later.