he sits on the bed farmer’s tan upon his feet
and for a moment i think he is beautiful
but with him it always passes in its brutal way
on this close summer night i force him
to listen to the drinking songs of my youth
and he obliges with an awkward grin that should
melt my cold heart that is on death’s door
i force a foreign language upon him
this train wreck that is my life
makes me messy in my own way
the road that was paved by harm
and he says it like it’s nothing so i smile
i have a tendency to be verbose even blustery
impressing, imposing on those who surround me
now a song is playing that reminds me of childhood
but i finally understand the words and i realize
as a precocious child i already knew the
meaning of life as i would come to know it
we sit in contentedness smoking, drinking, chitter chattering
asking questions of each other that neither understand
it reminds me of a time when i was thirteen
and i lusted after a boy who was bad
in my mother’s eyes and she was right about the 80 proof love
but never could she have predicted the dirty hotel rooms i now sell
like a pimp i peddle the wares of sex and deceit
never concerned with the implications of a filthy bed
on the wrong side of the same town that his license bears
this day i’m willing to let love slip through my fingers
if it means one less bad memory and one more time in the spotlight
