When I watch my hand writing I say, “Oh, tiny hand. You vomit so often. You open that
mouth you keep in that pen and then you lose your guts.”
When I watch it scribbling, foaming at the mouth all rabid and unbridled, I say, “Fucking
thank god for you. I’m so glad you give me back all the nutrients I put into you. It’s like
we feed each other.”
It’s so clever how they set up these beds
With little bars on the sides
A man arrives and puts it together like he’s done it 10 trillion terrible times
He’s young and probably working for his family
Drives all day to set up and take down the world’s saddest furniture
I don’t want to be the only one climbing the mountain. You need to have your pick axe out too. It’s practically freezing up here sometimes and I worry that one of these days you’ll carve a ledge for yourself and build a fire and a fort and a whole home. You’ll want to stay there. Halfway up. Halfway down. No more climbing.
The sun has set but I can’t yet
I haven’t got what I came for
Just one more
I come in here because
The booze, the boys, the buzz
Unorthodox
Up on the jukebox
The sun’s got a curfew
It turns off before I do
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