who is abuzz after his trip to Gstaad,
but still somehow complaining about being broke,
so I lead with perspective and annoying positivity.
We drop some copies of my new book
at a bookstore, and I tell Carlos
to keep whatever money they make
as a thank you for the prime display.
We drop the ball on meeting Jongo,
but he burned an eight ball of coke last night,
so Franco takes his time talking to a girl
in the Self-Help section of the store.
He fails and I steal a Gwendolyn Brooks book,
and then we drown our sober sorrows
at a friend's bar, commiserating with the day drunks,
because we used to be them.
Evening temperatures slow daytime hustle,
so I ditch Franco and dawdle on down to Willytown,
where the gal I am seeing is singing sad bastard folk songs
in the back of a Mexican restaurant like it's 2010.
Her burgundy lips and Dua Lipa body,
are better for my bald head (but she is into the cancer thing),
and she is better than the selfies she posts,
but sometimes I still miss Kendra Jean when I kiss her.
Been thinking about changing
my favorite color to green,
I tell this to Marty as I walk back to his apartment,
which I am renting.
Over the phone, I tell him I have cancer again,
and he makes a joke because that's how he copes,
but I make him promise not to sell the boat
until I can come back to LA and take her out.
Can't wait to take off this balaclava,
and take my meds, while looking in the mirror
at my old guy neck, longing to grow my beard back,
even though everyone says they like my clean-shaven face.
I wanna be healthy enough soon enough
to take on ten jobs for the next ten years
to save up enough for my daughter to go to NYU,
and me to live in NYC again full time.