sick & oh-so-sorry of these cough medicine days

waking up at bus stops, as if every hour spent

was broken up into twelve minute metro timetables

we’ll do this dirty little dance, you twirl east & i’ll sway west

deafened by the clatter of our shaky steps

please be in on this, please be desperate

to feel my fingers on your lips

you slide your card against the pylon, a scapular twist resulting in a subterranean dive towards hollywood & vine.

through all these empty steps i miss the tickle of your breath against my travel-worn, bruised, & weary chest.

i have collected a box of things to send you in a blatant attempt to bridge this gap, even if momentarily.

i’ll be home soon, love.

you are a dirty, cheap whore.  i kinda like it.

i am a transient

i make excuses

for leaving

& being myself

means being gone

blending in with the desperate times ahead, will you hold my hands together & push me through this briar patch? i’ll be your tar baby dressed up like autumn infrastructure tests: seeing how far the leaves fall before snow covers up the past year & its inconsistencies.

we’ll let the marble sheen of january guide our feet.

sure, i could write for days about things that have happened to me.

but where would i be? several kilometers later in line at the grocery store buying enough to keep me alive but not enough to keep me healthy.

it’s the intrinsic value of a corpse versus making the best of a bad situation & in ten days i’ve found that nobody is interested in burying the hatchet or a sincere apology

we like violence, death, wine & free sex

& in between realizing this

i’m so sick to my stomach

then i’m over it

in an instant

i guess this is the way blood flows above sea level

twenty four hour everything

everyone has perfect teeth

soon i’ll have a newly minted apartment key

my own shred of this twisted city

happy halloween, but to tell you the truth

this place actually

frightens me

i have developed a reputation for getting walked all over,

& being burned was more of a birthright than anything

both literally & metaphorically.

that you have seen my jagged ribcage scars

the slash across my upper arm

felt the bitter tundra of my feeble heart

& know the depths of my genetic fault

makes this inconceivable to me.