couch skinning

I woke up mid morning thinking of how many ways can one skin a couch. I slept on the floor boards of the 8th floor room of a woman who used “whore” as her pronoun.  I smoked too many things last night and my head was throbbing. My nose bled some too as crunchy clusters of dried blood dropped onto my arm cupping my head.

Last night, on Werdin Place there were lots of people hangin’ out and doping up. Lounge lizards sitting on about half a dozen couches, right there in the middle of the musky alley. There was one couch in particular that was just foam and wood. It was still very clean, but as hard as I looked I couldn’t  see where the cloth covering had gone to.

So that morning I started off with two canned  espressos and a diet coke that I had in my book bag from last week. Tiffany came in from the shared bathroom down the hall. She was pissed or maybe her traced on eye brows were crooked. I just looked out the door past her calves. Someone was getting yelled at then she slammed the door. Her eyes were hard and mean; beady as hell too.  Tiffany once told me that her momma had an affair with Elvis after her daddy left them to join the Navy. I never doubted her.

Tiffany lit a bong shaped like a big purple cock. A present from one of her many admirers she gasped between inhales. She offered but I politely declined. I was a few years away from wanting to explore those kinds of shapes inside of my mouth. I could see she was offended as she smacked her lips and twisted her neck at me. It hadn’t been the first time so I hid my smile from her.

Taking three long slow drags from the bong she stood up slowly and dropped her worn out Wonder Woman beach towel. The dirty blond pubic tufts flayed from her arm pits and crotch were stiff and wire like. Tiffany sat back down and I could see skin hang like Christmas decorations from collar bones and ribs. She was beautiful in a medical way.

We didn’t talk. I stirred around my back pack and got the works and a rock out.  Tiffany held her chin high and words crawled from her ashy lips. You can cook and shoot if you let me fuck you. She smiled and said she had wanted a taste since last year.  I wasn’t fazed by her condition, but I was inconvenienced because I didn’t really want to walk down to Werdin. I answered under my breath. Tiffany told me to get the hell out of her house. I said ok but thanks for letting me spend the night. I was growing tired at 19. There were 700 rooms at low weekly rates and I couldn’t just yet rent one. All my assets were tied in under the counter investments.

my way…

i woke up mid morning thinking of how many ways can one skin a couch i slept on the floor boards of the 8th floor room of a woman who used “whore” as her pronoun i smoked too many things last night and my head was throbbing my nose bled some too as crunchy clusters of dried blood dropped onto my arm cupping my head.

last night on Werdin Place there were lots of people hangin’ out and doping up lounge lizards sitting on about half a dozen couches right there in the middle of the musky alley there was one couch in particular that was just foam and wood it was still very clean but as hard as i looked i couldn’t  see where the cloth covering had gone to

so that morning i started off with two canned  espressos and a diet coke that i had in my book bag from last week Tiffany came in from the shared bathroom down the hall she was pissed or maybe her traced on eye brows were crooked i just looked out the door past her calves someone was getting yelled at then she slammed the door her eyes were hard and mean beady as hell too  Tiffany once told me that her momma had an affair with Elvis after her daddy left them to join the Navy i never doubted her

Tiffany lit a bong shaped like a big purple cock a present from one of her many admirers she gasped between inhales she offered but i politely declined i was a few years away from wanting to explore those kinds of shapes inside of my mouth i could see she was offended as she smacked her lips and twisted her neck at me it hadn’t been the first time so i hid my smile from her

taking three long slow drags from the bong she stood up slowly and dropped her worn out Wonder Woman beach towel the dirty blond pubic tufts flayed from her arm pits and crotch were stiff and wire like Tiffany sat back down and i could see skin hang like Christmas decorations from collar bones and ribs she was beautiful in a medical way

we didn’t talk i stirred around my back pack and got the works and a rock out  Tiffany held her chin high and words crawled from her ashy lips you can cook and shoot if you let me fuck you she smiled and said she had wanted a taste since last year i wasn’t fazed by her condition but i was inconvenienced because i didn’t really want to walk down to Werdin i answered under my breath Tiffany told me to get the hell out of her house i said ok but thanks for letting me spend the night i was growing tired at 19 there were 700 rooms at low weekly rates and i couldn’t just yet rent one all my assets were tied in under the counter investments

want

to want you to kiss my mouth hungry like a starving dog deep inside the tendrils of time perhaps inside of Tutankhamun’s tomb where he laid wrapped in magic to want you to look in me and search with your fingers like a carpenter looks for nails in an old rusty Folgers tin that looks much like my heart to want to breath you in like when you turn and give a final glance at a coffin’s bouquet of roses of your fallen enemy to want to scratch and dig my woman’s claws into your back as your masculine identity fucks my sad out to want to possess the honesty of a very small child to want to have the courage to do a lot of things and in the midnight sky when my eyes upturn alone i catch a snippet of the music of Shakespeare’s heavenly spheres that only the angel’s can hear

Thursday morning

last night i hung out with Jimmy and Janis

and in the shower i sang about foxy Kentuckians

not sure if it meant anything at all but yet can’t help to daydream about his guitar and her vocal chords

making coffee the feeling persisted why am i still here

just feelings i guess no need to worry the squirrels are in the tree the sidewalk exists from what i can tell

i do an LOL i’ve kissed the ground so many times with my ball and chain gang of personal fools

could it be that it truly is just semantics me wonders whilst the refuse truck crawls by on Thursday morning

freed

she thrived optimally when lost in LA

salty sassy loose and Catholic tube top wearing even on cold days

mother of three husband gone missing foul play by the finest in town

she talked back and took what you had with scorn and laughs

yet in the sun light at the plaza when traffic is quiet beggars and convicts safe in their bags

she fed the pigeons ever so delicately threw breadcrumbs at them not like a DiMaggio but like a Pavlova

then they were fed no more