Notes

A photograph of me throwing a couch cushion.

Jamie on the floor, a rolling, uneasiness in his eyes. He smirks, hesitates, glances at the floor, smirks again, drunkenly teetering.

Tommy is an elemental, a conjurer of this whole deal. A giant tossing glory like it was a thing you could grab and crush or vomit out of you at will. He is a breaker of walls.

Steve is in his glory digging it all, engrossed, grinning, gunning for the girl, or her clothes. He looks at me with wide eyes bearing his teeth, his soul. I love it.

I'm a ghoul exiting that plastic image carrying a stick torn from an alley and a tree.

Vitaly is everywhere, nowhere, appearing, disappearing, nodding. He gently rests his thoughts on the hardwood floors. He has a god out there. He dodges it.

Eternity dodges too.

Joe's on the couch, somber, assuming this is how it's all supposed to go, trying to disapprove. He can't though. He's had a beer. His arm is around the girl covering her face. Forget about her.

There is time. I've counted it and kicked it off the curbs,

I've squandered it on that Hurricane.

Cellulose

Vitaly nodded like Ginsberg on
blow--
          wrecking the car, the beers
were cheap but the place shit
fishtown old spot to hear music
but now the 90s dance throb was
bleeding--my ears, and the girls--
    sorry this isn't for you, tho you looked
nice I guess, I was drunk & Vitaly had the
Christian Bale going, where it
was going--to the corner, the lights,
the trolley line--
   
     wheels were blue 'cause gawd couldn't
double park

for shit.

The smell was mold and lights
when I pissed in the alley
at 3am
forgetting the names.