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