the midnight edition

did you ever have one of those nights

you couldn’t write?

i’ve noticed the quality of my conversations

are caving in

too much whiskey, beer and gin

can’t remember the word

that would best describe

i not only imbibe

but have done so for a really long time

in mass quantities

and let’s not talk about the drugs

 

which i got fired from my job for doing

so i went home and got high

 

oh well, fuck it

give me gothic girls and graveyards

whiskey on my lips

these ghoulish girls singing nothing matters

so let’s take an acid trip

 

give me streets in cold or heat

i’ll walk them till i die

couldn’t dance with domesticity

not good at compromise

 

never could tell anyone

i’m their kind of guy

 

i never try to hurt

but odds are i will

i just need sex and cigarettes

and alcoholic swill

 

yeah, it’s gonna kill me

you die just how you live

but drunk and writing poetry

is all i have to give

 

in my own apartment again

a cat and a carton of smokes

the only thing i’ve furnished it with

is rum and diet coke

 

empty bottles of whiskey

collecting on the floor

till i figure out where the dumpster is

guess i’ll collect some more

 

i do have an ashtray

and things to have a cat

she’s batting a toy

around the empty floors

pretending it’s a rat

 

didn’t feel like going out tonight

had pizza delivered

my clothes are in a hefty bag

there’s head lights like a river

i watch within my balcony

when i step out for a smoke

my neighbors up and arguing

from doing too much coke

 

i wish i’d bought some fritos

right now sounds so good

but still haven’t found

the liquor store

in my new neighborhood

 

so i sip a little whiskey

and then a little more

drink all that i fucking can

cause, you know what?

they’ll make more

 

and if my poetry no longer seeds

a garden of deeper thoughts

it’s cause i’m there without a care

just doing double shots

 

i’ve reached my destination

there’s nothing but decay

it doesn’t matter what you do

so i’m just gonna play

 

no moral to the story

o.k. maybe there’s one

if you believe in anything

unhappiness will come

 

and so i sit suspended

in the moment nothing made

the lie begins with teachers

and the goal of getting grades

 

only a bottle of rum, whiskey

and six beers left

maybe should go out and get more

not sure if it will last the night

fuck it

where’s that joint to light?

 

balcony smoking weed

warm beer in my hand

should buy a refrigerator

yeah

          someday

                  

so until then my fragile friend

my cat’s taking a nap

because i ate pizza

at some point i’ll take a crap

 

beyond that my only plans

meander like my words

 

just got a text from an old lover

told her i have no covers

or anything that goes beneath them

she’s still on her way over

 

she’s from india

breasts hard and brown

there’s the sound

of her knock on the door

already poured the drink

now in her hand

so beautiful

she doesn’t like compliments

i call her a slut

slap her butt

 

naked and writhing on hardwood floors

 

aftermath of entangled limbs

cat sniffs our naked forms

walks away

we go without clothes to the balcony

smoke

watch the world worry by

 

we sigh

and pull slowly on the cigarette

we are sharing

 

***