vodka heights on tattoo mornings

bought a typewriter.
broke it.
threw it in the east river.
now it lives with those microwaves.

took the 4 train to union square. 
sat on a bench. 
just for a second.
moved on, moving on. 

listened to a song or two. 
put a banjo up into the sky.
tried to keep us moving. 
really tried to keep us present.

the name of this poem is stupid. 
I just keep trying in darkness.
darkness is good. 
I got a mop and a pistol and I am ready to clean.