still high on iron.
in lungs and loins.
mixing it with Tuesdays.
plenty left.
lentils.
my belly hurts.
not from the chili.
but the new tattoo.
and the new direction.
of these poems.
nyc, strong island.
not her.
not anymore.
maybe.
who knows.
how drunk I will get.
before I bench this bastard.
sugar pops stop me.
where do I go in January?
new not here.