I don’t wear scarves,
and I’m only ever wanted to commit suicide
in Reno.

What I was doing with stockings tied
around my neck would later have to give itself
over to the indignity of what I think about,
when I’m trying to sleep in a car
that thinks it’s an elevator.

Gotta settle my mind.
It takes, takes and takes,
brings to the forefront warm eyes
that were never there.

My stomach can’t take the romance,
courage, karma to the gut, melancholy rinse cycle,
borrowed medication and fast food.

I’m big on the things I shouldn’t do,
and that’s been good for business,
good for the business of being a typical bachelor
for these parts, but it’s been terrible for everything else.

And by everything else I mean everything else.

I need some blood money fast,
and I don’t have time to be clever
about what I did when the private war was over,
and the girls dumped my body on some beach in Vancouver.

New Jersey? Could have been. Should have been? Yeah, probably.
Jesus, I don’t know, man, darling, child of that 1998 showdown
(Whoever you are, you’re welcome to be entirely yourself with me).

I was just happy to be alive. It was a nice change of pace,
and I even treated myself to breakfast on the steady move.

Everything became clear,
and was then immediately lost to me.

Same old. Win some.
Same old. Lose some.
Same old. Light a smoke, smile at the woman
who glares at you and hurries her fourteen kids along.

Formulas will have to stay reliable
when I have nothing tangible to give you.

I can cook,
take a beating the mob would envy
and leave a strange home quietly by five a.m.

The last one’s my favorite.
You get some great coffee on the six a.m. ferry,
and sometimes the boat takes a sudden turn
into weird territory.

That’s when the fun
starts. That’s when you both fall in love
with knowing that you’re the one
who’s gonna break down eventually.

House rules. Doesn’t mean you didn’t
suspend belief once or twice.

11/10/2011

Posted on 11/10/2011
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