Digging through junk drawers,
looking for old photos, yo-yos and lollipops,
all I got are receipts for evenings
that happened too brief,
Bracelets for nights I wasted…
Swerving with the Bourbon
The curves I can taste it…
l’m carrying this luggage to New Brunswick…
Setting sail for New South Whales.
I’m done, I’m returning to London.
I come undone when you pop a button.
Trying to remember last December
when I got lost in Boston.
Washed ashore in Myanmar.
On my last legs on Nebraska plains.
I’m lost and legless in Las Vegas.
Folding pages on poems I never wrote,
Hold stories of woebegone I never told,
I’m the Michelin Man on Michigan Ave,
The psycho-ist bicyclist that ever spoke.
Hold me down,
otherwise I’ll be up
inside the clouds.