Plants on my mind and my garden is a prison.
Jailing my desires, subduing my fiscal dues to the rascal
for salami and non-vegan crap. Wunderlust near my opiniated ruins
if the artic is exotic, call me a cab from Palo Alto.
I just hope someone sees me near Columbia and
salutes my wishes like it was my birthday with a cake.
And the white gigotulips hold my head and whispers in the datcha “you’re so sexy my guy, let’s go – kiss me imminently”
But dreams be dreams the beautify in real as sober as she can be will never be the same tune in a nightclub.
Maybe they are with the blessed eyes of them all at winter wonderland
or posed on a bland countertop of this bar. Who knows, who cares, contingency is queen in this place.
i could go on but my lavish sights on women and friends and dancers tonight starstruck me
that eventually i need to put the pen back in my pocket, close my notebook and see for myself
if there’s a drug waiting for me in between two DJs and a bathroom door.