while working on my Wednesday.
His cousin moans underneath me,
first night, second night, third night gone.
One day in three nights,
can you believe it, I say.
Justin can't text anymore,
so I take over.
Only poems to pretty devils
will do as an investment.
We walk to the bodega
for smokes and simple inspiration.
Lettuce and a kitty cat,
I am dizzy from travel and blues.
Visit me in dreams, please,
dear Kendra Jean.
I'll always know
she won't show.
So, I'll come and go,
cum and fly out on Monday maybe.
Tickling the piano
in the basement of my morrow.
I am a living ghost,
listening to a cave's carnage.
Even the Brooklyn Bridge
doesn't see me.
Underneath its trellises,
the water is the only thing that is real.