(dedicated in love + friendship to the rockstar, haha)
It’s just that this distortion of chemicals, a twisted
rainbow of hormones and instant response are making me
fall asleep in the elevator, much to the dismay
of my fellow passengers, not understanding that I
could be a junkie for the melancholy. And when it’s dark
already at 5 o’clock, I want to
cry a river of weeping for summers lost,
28 of ’em now.
Yes, summer’s lost.
I knew I shoulda taken the subway
to work this morning but I was late,
too late to make a phone call that says
I’m sorry again and again and again.
I’m sorry I was an asshole, I don’t even
remember what I said, but I’m sure
that it was nowhere near
I love you, too.
But there are meetings for me to go to and a table
to drink myself under, convincing myself that
I can handle it
while convincing no one else.
Si, oui, si,
that would be lovely.
Thursday is booked, but maybe we can
talk at ten.
I can’t, I have to go to Philly on Friday
and make words on Saturday
and finish that story on Sunday
before i have dinner with the guy I slept with
a few years ago, doing it all backwards:
sex first and
I have become too confident once again
in my abilities to produce gems
with the blink of an eye or the swish
of a smile across my now-sallow, jaundiced face.
They said, You look like shit, and I said
Well, whaddya want, I work three jobs
and still struggle cuz some of them only
pay me in warm fuzzies, which is fine until it’s time
to pay the rent.
Party all night long with everyone you know on the 31st
because tomorrow, Mr. Misrahi comes a-knockin’
for that fat check to cover the 300 square feet
that I call not home but mine.
Hooooold on to your hats kids,
another mood swing’s back,
swingin’ on up,
it’s maaaaaania, wheeeeeeeee!
This is a breeze!
The cappuccino’s workin’, y’all, so get
on board, if you think I’m something
you can afford.