I’m tired of these lonesome nights
spent **** in fist and staring at the ceiling.
Exist in thought and again through
ever-changing screens;
it’s been years since I lived through action.

Desiccated white heels in the dust of Savannakhet.
Finding love in the half-dark Bangkok hotel room.
The bar-maid in Malaga, hash from Morocco,
all those nights spent lusting for blood amongst the wine.

Now getting high means finding an anchor
to hold me down when gravity does not feel enough.
When all forces of G-d and Nature combined
Cannot rattle hard enough to force me to speak
in any half-filled room.

Sometimes I’m certain the noise in my chest
can be heard aloud
and everyone knows I am nothing.
I wonder why in all my dreams
Beauty follows in my footsteps.

I wonder why in all my dreams
I’m running away from something.