6.30am's

eating pork wrapped in sesame leaves
just one more shot of soju
i dont know if this is breakfast lunch or dinner
when its
4
5
6
in the morning
when sleep has yet to be a thought

i may prostrate my (written) words at the feet of beauty
but never myself
cuz i am too proud to beg

and i need a night that ends before 1am
and a morning that has no groggy
i am walking a thin line
that worries me of lithuania

but everything is beautiful
and everything so lovely
and heels click against a wooden floor
and bottles smack against the counter tops

and its 5.50 at night and i have yet to stretch myself from weary pjs

and the 'morrow brings a radio interview
"live from seoul
i shall ramble on about
(f)art"

and bukowski had his bluebird
and i have my tattoos
we are kept sensitive by reminders

im in need of a shower
a fresh pack of smokes
a fresh change of clothes

oh youre so popular
and im so pretty
and my phone is quiet

soon i shall look out upon the sea
a sea that was once hers
i am made of brine

and if she answers the door
i will run and hide
because seeing
will bring
salt water from the shores
into my eyes
and collapse me in some tidal wave of
too much

so its easier
to stay up
and
out
doing things my mother would not approve of
doing things that i sometimes wonder if these things come from him
- cuz someone had to be the artist
but someone also had to be
the
"izer" of the "woman"

so ive been slamming it down
and taking it in
and misbehavin' in every good bad way

and at 3 minutes to 6 at night
its time to turn the water on
and cleanse myself
from the stench of
my lovely
sins