he tried to explain to me
the ashes in the box were the same as the concrete that made the bricks
brix
just grey matter
nothing specific
he could have filled the urn with concrete powder
the room was packed
I missed my
X
I drank
we left with the light change
bad cigarettes
chinese mafioso kareoke bar
all the books in scribbles
I had just enough booze
and burning soul
to sing anything
anythinganythinganythinganythinganything
they let us smoke in there
and sold glasses of whiskey for $8 a glass
knew nothing
mixed it with tonic
” Asians don’t drink whiskey… or milk ”
as they were all readying to leave
I headed to the rivington hotel
it wasn’t til later I missed my home down there
but I was sad
I was drunk
I massaged a guy
a fat guy with scars from skin tucking
a sexy sweet guy with a fat dick
a musician
from nashville
what a day day day
I massaged him
while talking
while singing “tower of song”
while passing out
and waking up with his pants on
remembering only part of what happened
what a deep tub
nice to rake a bath
but I stumbled on towards home
just after midnight
no lambajune at my old favourite
they gave me some chicken shit
delancy F stop
west 4th
waiting for the A
Steven is Dead
just rotting fat in a grave somewhere
just dead
too costumey
I’m almost home now
nearly lucid
lightened the load
enough brain rot
to lighten the load
.iP
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