By Lukas Palmer
there is nothing dangerous
about riding a bike at night
nix lights
in all black on a winter night
santa fe, the highest
drunk drivers in america
no, nothing hazardous here, not me
as i pedal and smoke
this hill to towering pizza
shops and poetry readings
that will leave me emptier
than i already am
o yea, so safe, i guess
so safe & alone & desperate
& dying for a drink or
the love of a junkie
in oklahoma (she cradles my
heart in a spoon- sweet girl)
so relatively safe that i
think about rain & heroin,
of eating danelions in
spring or humpbacks in wales,
i cough twice, cry,
i drink too much and it is so sad
that i must trade pot for booze,
b/c i hate pot,
inhale and the vocabulary wanes,
inhale and creativity wanes,
inhale and inspiration and all that i am wanes as
the waxing of the moon foats sickening
like the jaundiced eye of a devil in spain
and i peddle up the hill, lonesome in spight of
oncoming traffic headlights blaring city-style
hip-hop death beats blasting through glass screen
engulfing me in unapologetic dream-scenes falling.
i continue up the hill, smoking and swerving as i
wish i were someplace unsafe.
RETURN