Lived in Bars
I could tell right away they were gone
Someone down the hall talking in Romanian
What a fantastic composer he was
& how hard it is to find a new needle
You press your face against the wall
Harsh words, missing a few teeth & derisive in tone
Hand over the Money or go back to bed
Two new tattoos & a table of anti-aging creams
Original editions left to the fingers
She shall be home in half an hour
This means two days in certain Gregorian chants
I’d rather be trapped in this room without talent.
Not vulgar, given to drink & flirtation.
She is in blood red today with a black broach
Not as simple as a throw over but random
Enough to cover the punctures.