there's not a place like this around
where i don't want myself around
dirt, hair, and soot inside the air purifier
so many orange and white bottles on the ground

dollars, masking tape, and cologne
Dior, Hermes, and Altoids upon Altoids tins
cigarettes and hand-rolled goods,
Vice magazines and fashion too

The things I keep in my bed are worse off
Than halves of horses heads that
Even Hollywood couldn't direct.
Until I set fire to the oil paintings and the books

At morning I'll count my rock collection of ****** conquests
And bury them like dead birds in shallow graves in the neighbor's yard