it's come down to half-eaten pizza
or roommate ramen,
and that's where my life is,
so airfare is the righteous resort.
Went to Hank's job fair
in Austin, Texas;
got too drunk beforehand
and puked in the library stacks.
Met a guy named Bishop
and a girl called L;
they seemed nice
and musical.
I gave my business card
to a priest
and he asked
"What the hell is Coyote Blood?"
I pointed to my heart
and then the book of poems
I had stashed in the front
of my pants like a pistol.
I don't want to be anywhere;
I want to be a traveling comic
or a hooker or both,
but not a poet's chorus because it doesn't do.
No one should know
what a poet looks like
until he has been dead for a decade,
hence my Instagram.
Hank hailed an Uber
and I stole a snip
of red-eye for the road
and we just laughed.
Lunatics in the night,
one doing it right
and one needing change
or a different floor.