when we’re done having sex, he asks me to blow his cousin in the adjoining room…
greyhound racing life of a side piece
ice cube tray
two bottles of vodka
four bottles of beer
a few eggs
a bottle of mustard
filling up on emptiness someone’s leftovers
some people leave you in odd ways. they just disappear from your life. like that.
the absence of malice
of an owl
The best time I had was when I forgot myself. I don’t know why I ever came back.
the subway car window
shows only darkness . . .
and my reflection
I can’t figure out if mysticism is ecstatic or a sham. I go between Sufi dancing and wanting fame. Not everyone can sleep in the sand.
our first name
I have never been on hard drugs, but it seems like I am. The cacophony of conversations in the cafe melds into my thought process and my mental silence. I thought I was high on meditation this morning, but I guess coffee can cut through inner calm, despite our idealism.
rain or snow?
I remove myself
a flush in the hand you are holding still enough to compensate for the death that waits due north of this death
taking the chance the thrill the not knowing the him the her the me or any of this dank matter held together by the weak forces that will inevitably cause our decay
waiting to be picked up
by the blockchain
anyway take my trade tiny cop imposter and mute the bond yet smelted warm to the slob touch of a grasshopper
grooming the coats
… and if he just created an artificial intelligence that was able to create an artificial intelligence
below all the snow
an old dream
They do physical exercises in the park every saturday, and every saturday I smoke a cigarette and watch them from the big window of my living room.
the different levels