They lit a toothpick on fire to light a candle,

dropped it and lit the carpet on fire.

She was upstairs and faking it.

The guys next door were cooking crack

for the sons of senators. Americans.

I am in front of  a 21st century typewriter

and I understand that this life is the

flavor of water. I wish they’d just ****

me already and get it over with.

I’m in a land where strange customs prevail.

I’m home. I’m almost alone. I can’t taste it.

It’s over now though. The past makes sense.

The coffee is cold, the hope is gone.

It’s comfortable. It’s over now.