999 Z113

you bum a light
in an airport smoke box
you forget your finger is bleeding
so you smear blood
on a black lighter
wipe it off
then hand it back

I’m at four
I’m up
four
at four
screaming at a train
but it’s just the washing
damn machine
I’m cycling
to get rid of some stains

- - -fuck

and I keep
having this
innkeeper
I keep
I keep having
this impulse
to carry her
across hot sands
lie her down on blue
on a blue
blue sky
skies

— fuck

four glasses of Irish whiskey
pulling out noise
no
nose hair

and I don’t plan
where will she go
my
my

fuck

nostalgia
my sweet queen
won’t you take care
of those lips