torn labels

Can’t remember th turn when
vodka said this is not to remember,
And then outside da club
I fell near a dumpster.

Waiting for my girlfriend
not waiting but passed-out,
my wooden jaw
cracked in th cold wind. 

                                       awkwardly embracing a garbage bag )

the snow ~
is not quite what I was waiting for

           and this frozen
           is alone as a keychain
           in a river

The concrete walls vibrate
some 50 is dope,
and need to be up in da club for dat
but the keys are in her pocket.

Laying hunted
by no one            can see th spires of city hell
from here and      myself keeps
slipping                below nine

Beats and shave a wooden jaw
but stumble red eyes and
face buries in how often does this happen
                   a posterchild for vice]

Th series of shakers at closing time
get an intimate fix out on the sidewalk.
Side to side the head of my pavement
lifts face to a flow of cream and sugar that becomes vanilla stares
in a November night;
and a portrait of a guy on the ground
no one sees. 

[dressed nicely might I add] And then finally
black hair swings in snowflakes descent
and my girlfriend comes
and –b ut slips some smoke into the
show of some guy
and into a unmarked truck. 

          she gets up and I can see her thigh
          and the
          meat off his tongue
          is around her lips

in th night:
          visited by three rats
          and a native man in a kilt who told me how
          godless and spiritually bereft I was

          and all I could do was
          remember being a child

# posted by hardyf : 16:18