I need to figure out my two weeks,
as a squirrel runs across the street
in front of my green rental car,
and I swerve to miss the fucker
and avoid smashing its brains.
an hour and a breakfast pizza
into this guitar-fuzz trip,
I already feel anxious, and aside
from the almost-squirrel murder
I don't really know why.
the last time I was here,
I had the cocaine sniffles
at a basketball game,
and I went for a girl,
but I never came.
clothes-pinned my hopes
on a sure thing,
and ended up wasting
a whole damn Spring,
leaving with just a notebook.
and now I am back
for business and pleasure,
hoping I don't run into her,
because she is crazy,
and Charlotte is dark.
Happy Thanksgiving
to the first two hours,
in which I saw a man fingering
his big belly button at the airport,
and I am not even in the city yet.