Police Report Not Included.

One time in the city I
fell asleep drunkenly on
the uptown
1.

When the dual tones
of the closing door woke me,
I disembarked to find
a hot Bronx
summer
night.

Tonight my neighborhood sounded similar,
boisterous and sinister.
So I came inside to
write.

Last week I was robbed again
on the outskirts of
R, NC.

It is the second time since
I've been back in
the South.

And as my assailant ran
cackling into the night I
chalked up another win
for unintentional philanthropy.

He probably got pretty high out there.

Count it.



And so I sang with a smile.

I'm So Pretty When I'm Honest.

I get high to forget.
I get low to sleep.
Christine called tonight and
her little voice was music.
I spat on the ground as I smoked.
I watched t.v.
There were so many streets in Manhattan.
Wine is easy drinking.
I was alone and alone and
I was happy.
I want to be sober.
I am scared that I won't.
Life gets heavy.
The past is a bitter taste
in my
mouth.

I am alive

...if barely.

The other night I held a stranger
close to my body on a downtown hotel bed.

I told her I was high
"on proximity"
it was true.
We both confessed that
it had been a long time
since we had been so close
to
anyone.

But it was only proximity.
I ate and her body shook gratefully,
beautifully,
and uncontrollably.
I stood,
tucked in my shirt,
and told her to
stay
in touch.

A jet plane landed in San Francisco.
She is gone now
and I don't
miss her.

C'est la vie.
And so it goes.
These are the days of
our
lives.