she bites her nails
in the car next to me.
the light changes from red to green.
she goes.
she has no idea I exist.
isn't it funny how many people we pass
and don't notice?
I carry January
in my heart all the time.
my ankles feel the wait.
lost some weight,
lost so many days,
if I could only soar when sore.
sometimes I write happy poems,
then again the sad ones make me smile.
maybe tonight is the last lonely night
and a little rain never hurt no one.
just a folk, fuck-up poet anti-hero from New York City
by way of Florida, hiding in LA,
listening to Blaze Foley, loud.
thank you,
I drive on,
taking my tattoos and regrets with me.
bound to make more people mad,
but I don't care,
you can hawk me twice,
and I will still be here.
pick my boogers,
happily the way I go,
looking at the sky and wondering why we die.
sipping whiskey at the stump table,
I could keep going,
and so I shall,
what's wrong with that?
no shoes, wet socks,
threw my shoes on the highway
earlier today which feels like a week ago.
lost my knife.
lost my night, many times,
my wrists are under water,
the song starts again with brown eyes.
nothing will change,
love never comes back,
breakfast will happen, even without eggs.
it's time for a thang of beer,
the calendar made me shaky,
so I reach for the banister of hipster hang-ons,
and hold until a thing called tomorrow.
sleep in the SUV,
dream of the next place,
wings and where they'd take me.
this is a long one,
long in the middle,
long in the want,
so long to the farewell.
I remember the rain,
that other heart I had,
can't make something bloody without blood.