Sean Conlon
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Sean Conlon was raised in a plantation house in Fredericksburg, Virginia with an attached pool and a number of pets and material belongings. Despite this and other hardships, in 2000 he began writing poetry to supplement his activities as a working musician and songwriter, and in 2003 he made the move to Boston for an ill-fated attempt at a college education. Living in a city, however safe or small, added a salt and sarcasm to Sean's previously more heartfelt artistic endeavors, and his work took a turn for the dark and borderline morose until 2004 when he moved out of his basement apartment and thought about making some friends or something. After what he considers an Emily Dickens-esque stint as a writing and editing shut-in, he has only recently begun to share his works in public, receiving what he considers overall to be an acceptably positive response from the poetry community. Currently Sean is balancing his day job with work on his new record, a rock album entitled "The Pornography Diaries," as well as work completing a collection of poetry entitled, "Fame and the Family Fortune," and planning his return to college in the fall of 2006.
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Anthem for the Queer Boys with Black Eyes from Comm. Ave House Parties
I've seen friends and lovers fly from you and disappear into the air like they
were never there
I've seen boys shaped by your kiss like smoke rings blown between your two
Highlife-laced lips
Told your ears to tell your mouth to tell your hands to reach somewhere else
You can't hold me,
I'm not thirsty,
Go cup yourself.
Hadn't said anything like that before, given the chance to live in rewind I
wouldn't say it anymore
I'd walk backwards through your door and wipe the slap from your face
seems I haven't been this bent up in a dog's age
so I went up to the roof with a beer and a blank page
and watched the road
for hours I listened to them come and go
thought about how the avenue has a tendency to swallow, people
spits 'em out in other places
lost in the shuffle my brokedown brothers are kings with scratched out faces
and poker chip shoulders
and inspiration don't come so easy now we're older
so the words on the page came out like a bad photograph
read them later and I laughed
but I found this one perfect line, in the midst of blurry drunken rambling
said, "You only lose about half the time,"
"But you're always gambling."
