staring at the floor,
putting on records
with my mind.
Everything from Devendra
to Billie, salsa to punk rock,
Nas to Chopin,
just floating there.
I'm not on the edge,
far from it,
but in idiosyncratic mediocrity
is where I hope not to die.
Give me an alley
and a soundtrack,
a jail cell and a story,
for I'd rather be bold than boring.
As the records spin,
I pull the knife from within,
lick the blade,
and smile at another day.