By Jeri Cain Rossi.<\/p>\n
John Doe 49 Should I be a madonna or a whore? I wondered as I rode around Denver in the ice and storm with you, an American Icon Rock Star Poet Warrior of the People. But you had no such hang-ups as you pushed my head into your lap on Colfax Ave. Not wanting to be recognized you paid for a motel room under an alias. And as I sat on top I asked you who you really were even though I was really asking myself. <\/p>\n John Doe 128 I’m thinking about that wild boy I used to know. You know, the young one with crazy black Hispanic eyes. Motherfucker. You. I’d seen you around and caught your crazy eye. We flirted on the street. I knew you wanted it. So I went to the fag bar strip show contest. Your Spanish eyes widened when I caught you hustling on stage. You followed me all the way home like you were in a spell. It must have been 7 a.m. when we finally fell on my bed. Oh boy what a huge freak of a cock you have. Jesus Sweet Jesus. I am damned now. When we finished you accused me of being a witch like your mother and left hastily. Man, it took a year to get over you, your cock, you, your crazy Spanish eyes, your jokes, your laugh, your vulnerability, your bravado, your refusal. <\/p>\n I see you on Decatur Street in the bars now, a few years later. We don’t speak, we avoid each other’s eyes. Your face is bloated and older. You’ve lost your gaunt, hustler physique. And I can’t help thinking how much thicker and fatter your freak cock must be. <\/p>\n John Doe 193, “Hemingway never smoked cigarettes,” you slurred lighting our Winstons. <\/p>\n “Yeah, he thought it killed your sense of smell and you need that for the big hunt.” I smiled and blew smoke in your face. That may be true about Hemingway but by your hand sliding up my leg, I’m certain you can smell my pussy in this smoke-filled bar.<\/p>\n ABOUT THE AUTHOR Should I be a madonna or a whore? I wondered as I rode around Denver in the ice and storm with you, an American Icon Rock Star Poet Warrior of the People. But you had no such hang-ups as you pushed my head into your lap on Colfax Ave. Not wanting to be recognized you paid for a motel room under an alias. And as I sat on top I asked you who you really were even though I was really asking myself.<\/p>\n \nBy Jeri Cain Rossi<\/b>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":119,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1969","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-buzzwords"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1969","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/119"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1969"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1969\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1969"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1969"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1969"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nDenver, CO 1985<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nNew Orleans, LA 1995<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nNew York, NY 1999<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nJeri Cain Rossi is the author of Angel With a Criminal Kiss<\/em> (Creation Books, 1996) and Red Wine Moan<\/em> (Manic D Press, 2000). After a harrowing Huck Finn raft ride through the gale called Katrina, she now resides in San Francisco, California. When asked what she’ll do when the Big One hits there, she replied, ‘Ah got out ‘o one sinkin’ city, guess ah can git outta nother.’<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"