I dreamed of the city
and then i was in it deep,
and it was beautiful there.
everything was filthy,
and people’s minds osmosed
the pretty black fog
that rose from the streets like heat
and came out the rear-end
of cars, like residue from the souls
of their drivers. i loved being nothing,
cherished how lost and unimportant i was
among the dreamers, and how we all shared
with one another the terrible pressure
of failure, the terrible sadness of dying
a conscious death and not being brave enough
to pull the plug. we bled
and we fucked one another.
we flushed our paychecks into cavernous bars
that loved us just for our money, and
who showed us the beautiful corrective
which is booze. and so we gave it to them.
Here you go, we said. Take all my worth,
just take me for a ride after.
how many mornings did i wake in puke,
how many apologies to unfamiliar woman
for oiling their sheets and blankets
with my excrement, and promising them i’d
get it all taken care of?
now i’m in the country. i set mouse traps
with peanut butter and kill spiders with my hand.
i wake up and i smell rain even when its miles off.
i have sex once a week and i drink twice as much
but for half the price. i can’t say that i’m happy.
i miss the city. i miss the city
and i yearn to feel again the madness of failure.
but for now there are duties
that require my attention, and they will have it
for now, till when? i cannot say.
i will drink and smile at people and wave to them
and when they ask, What do you do?
i will tell them of the city of my dreams
and pretend like i don’t belong here.
Witten at 5:31 in the afternoon, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA.