Drinking Whiskey, Feeling Friskey

god, damn,
I love you like quick
decisions in waiting rooms. 

Let's go dancing

somewhere in Brooklyn
and take pictures
as stupid proof.

ain't a soul stopping me.

But we can start elsewhere,
if ya want, if ya want me,
where heals hit coffee tables
and horns hear us first. 

throw your vocals into a phone
and hear what magic happens. 

this is my dream. 

I crack my knuckles
against my head
and wait for your words
to tell me to sleep.

imagine where
eyelids meet home,
and capsized eulogy bullets. 

she had a breeze-born
wildness about her.

I am a wet witness
of red horizons,
met with wide-open meadows
in a song of silent nature's
rhythm and rhymes. 

tomorrow I will turn 21
up in the Franklin on 87th,
and the shock of it all will last. 

She is a better writer than I.