we lost faith in the guts of the poems,
like gamblers and weathermen (or weatherwomen).
gave a black eye to a black guy,
he was my friend,
in Burberry coat.
I'll see you in the streets,
because there is more puke
in my nervous stories.
I want to tie my tie,
and roll a joint.
See Natalie
and her weird woodland sex friend,
forget to Uber
and give up with James.