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.