Chinese boy
under the street lamp
Heavy jackets from Russia
It wasn't cold like this back home

The City is the wild
It is mad here
the laws of nature were wiped away
long ago

I sit and watch
the foreigners require control
My presence is my pay
I left you for this?

Sweet girl
Look up at the stars for me
I miss you both
It wasn't cold like this back home

If you fancy
a cheap thrill,
I suggest you
buy erotica read on CD.

The narrators never disappoint.

Listen to it only in your car.
Be sure to take the route
with one too many stoplights—
teeming with all of
the self-righteous pedestrians
who think they always warrant
the right-of-way.

Roll down
all of your windows.
Turn the volume up
to a number that will
allow you to suitably share.
Employ a smirk of
the most contented caliber,
& bank on making
someone’s ******* day.

*('Cause, no matter how you skin it,
we’re all some kind of human.)

I would feed you crepes
while the city sleeps,
every night,
until I die
or until my whisking arm
gives out.

When I gasp with adrenaline
as you corner the road,
does it drive you crazy,
as you drive me
mad
to buy doughnut holes
at 3 A.M. ?

We share an addiction to lazy behavior,
but differ in our love
for coke,
for coffee.
For what?

When we broke years worth of tension
I thought it would be
more like
snapping a dried, autumn twig,
the crack of a whip
or dropping
a florescent tube light-bulb.

Instead it was that of morphine;
warm and gradual,
if at all.
I'm sorry I made such delusions,
held you high as perfection:
an irretrievable beast.

I thought myself shallow
in thinking
I was finally better than you
at something.

Now I think myself shallow
in thinking
I could do without you
because of your behavior
or lack there of.

I was wrong.
I thought I found
the disappointment
enough to
quench my lust.
But I'm yearning
just as ever,
even knowing what I'm missing.

So I'll sit here,
knowing we crave
the same basics
and differ
in specifics.

I'll sit here writing
as I watch you sleep.
I'll wait
as our ****** tension
slowly grows back,
like a forgotten
perennial ,
once again
making itself evident
and waiting for the
shing
of the garden shears
to snip its stalk
like a taught thread.

How do you know love even exists?
Really.
What the hell is it?
How the **** do you even know that it's not some ******* chemical process that only exists inside your brain?

Is it a connection between two people? Or can just one person love another?
Does that even qualify as love?

How do you know that love is even love?
What is it?
Is that just a title of a good feeling?

I give up on this "love" ****. You don't care about me. Clearly. At all.

Bye.

He opens his Star Wars: A New Hope lunch box
Inside a hippies dream.
**** in baggies that have the superman symbol
And Batman symbol on them
Tabs of LSD
And molly.
Hunter S. Thompson would have a field day

©Gambit '13

Seedling of Life
Sink your toes into the earth
Drink, like a babe upon the breast of its mother
Earth is your mother
Your shelter
Grow young seedling, Grow
Reach your long wooden arms up
Touch the sun
Feel the warmth
The world is your family

Okay, so
What would you do,
If I told you that I've just realized
The entire idea of society in history
Is being recycled? History is being repeated,
Over and
Over
Again, until it can repeat that, too.
The different time periods aren't matched up,
And different places are in different cycles.
But when you think about it,
Isn't society just adjusting, and not changing,
Because of new technology and
Other **** like that?