after an amazing meal
and a love-making session
minus the love,
I wake to a substantial hangover
to find winter at my feet.
with a chill in the room
and a chill in my heart,
I turn the kitchen
into a soaked wet Spokane hiding place,
full of memories made with crayons.
the only difference
between here and the Lower East Side
is I don't have anyone to talk to,
so I talk to myself more
in poems like this shit.
see ya on the flip side,
because the holidays have a way
of making us all feel sad
or nostalgic like a lamp
turning on and off.