opening a comedy show/music show
with poetry is never fun,
especially as at dive bar in West Palm Beach,
but the check cleared
so I am here.
I am still surprised that people pay me to do this.
perpetually tired, but full of life,
I read Bob Dylan poems
to an uninterested bar crowd,
some of which I was proud of reading
that were written in a kitchen
in the West Village ten years ago
times a hundred.
is the river or the road more pleased?
three whiskeys deep,
I ended up punching the host,
and forging a Baltimore exit.