right in my fusion,
I was drunk last night
and so I am sorry
for calling and I shouldn't
have come over.
I stood outside the Bowery Poetry Club
after bombing my performance
and texting new girls who will have me,
because I am human,
no matter the hammer.
the rose summer was already
wearing off and my back hurt
from my slouching getting worse,
and the only silly petal to respond
was a suicidal shiva named Nancy.
I took the L train
and then walked to her place,
where we did nothing
but drink Fernet Branca
and fall asleep immediately.
sometimes you need cuddling
more than sex,
and then 6am called
asking for its regret back,
and then I drank her milk
and headed back to Manhattan.