Paul Corman-Roberts is the author of the full length poetry collection "Water for a Brokedown Moon" forthcoming from Nomadic Press in 2020. Other collection titles include "We Shoot Typewriters" (Nomadic Press 2015) "Notes From an Orgy" (Paper Press 2014) and "19th Street Station" (Full of Crow Chap Series 2011.) He teaches to young students in Oakland CA who call him a "crackhead Santa Claus" and he still loves them.
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BREAK UP LETTER
Good Evening Reality,
Can we please be brutally honest with one another and admit we are no longer having a consensual relationship?
I just feel it would go a lot easier on us both if we held the space for each other to be who we really are, and to allow that there may be those moments that we do genuinely share.
And we can celebrate those.
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BREAKUP SEX LETTER
Good afternoon Imagination,
I woke up this morning in a heated sweat, uttering a gasp from some shadowy, unnamable night terror and you picked that very moment to whisper in my ear that a little gray morphling had invaded my bedroom and was blowing in musical rhythm into a big, empty Carlo Rossi wine jug and surely couldn’t I hear it and of course, I absolutely could hear this sound and all I could see was this little lumped golem of a demon come to torment me and when I finally screwed up what little courage I have to turn on the bedside lamp it turned out to be my cat snoring.
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MAKEUP SEX LETTER
Good morning Cynicism,
O’ my precious, my first born prodigal, you’ve come back home all cleaned up and with a full time job and everything working for a dynamic new firm calling itself something all sexy like “Alt Writing Scene” and never mind all that you even want to move back into the house!
Yes, this is all very exciting, we’ve missed you very much but you know it’s not like it was ten years ago; I mean now Bukowski looks like Don Hall compared to Neruda. You remember all that “kill your idols” shit right?
‘Cause it turns out it’s really all true and it means you won’t be participating in the household’s social currency sweepstakes because those of us who stayed decided we’re not that cool after all.
So when you say you wanna get high you’d best expect to hear us say “jump” because we can’t afford to be assuming that shit anymore, but hey man, it’s really kinda good to have you back
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2nd BREAKUP LETTER
Good riddance idealism,
When exactly have you ever been good for anything, standing around like the worst of our mirrors, making light of our fears, our doubts. And yet you are caught in that peculiar limbo where none of us will allow you to leave either, just like some pain in the ass lawyer: no one can stand you until they need you.
Which reminds me, I’ve got this date I really need to break tomorrow night and I was hoping you’d have some fly ass political trauma handy. You know, something that would be particularly convincing and compelling and is there any chance you happen to be carrying right now? You know, maybe some sort of mass shooting somewhere or a particularly grievous loss of civil rights precedent hanging out in your pocket lint? Everybody’s got them these days.
Oh no, I see you’re going to give me the slow news day song and dance brush off; the whole go out and make some news of your own shuffle that got tired twenty five years ago. Well good riddance to your idealism, what have you done for anyone lately anyway?
