grifting my way 
from heart to heart
was suitable,
but I am now
too old for that shit. 

years, Yuenglings, young girls
crawl and gulp and seduce,
and sometimes they still show
with soft hands of clocks
or gals called Katherine.

when we talk about
the selector, that which
life slowly inserts into your days,
I find myself being picky
with finite minutes.

I don't want to give them
or loan them to anyone
or anything that isn't
worth the dizzyness 
of a hand stand. 

drifting my way
from eyes to city,
used to be fun,
now I just want a bed,
a business and a balebuste.