Wet pavement, jazz, some place to beat off.
\nDown the street traffic jerks and coils
\nlike a snake. Behind the glare of neons<\/p>\n
phosphorescent nudes unbuckle dumb
\nstuds in peepshows, a buck for a bolt.
\nDrive on. Drive on past cops and fat-ass<\/p>\n
wreckers sweeping up from a bone-cruncher.
\nChange lanes. Wipe it off. Change stations.
\nI have no copyright on stress but when<\/p>\n
warts well up along my knuckles and sleep
\neludes me in the quivering hole of night,
\nI hear the news, I hear it clearly.<\/p>\n
Nothing special can be done for me now.
\nMomentum from a fiendish toss carries
\nme from deals to meals and on to trysts.<\/p>\n
The sole supplication I bother mumbling
\nto no one in particular under yearly more
\nfetid breath is that things just turn out,<\/p>\n
dear God, one humdrum way or another.
\nFlings peter out. It slips the mind how
\nI spend the nights. What hurts are<\/p>\n
non-events, like thumps from the plastic
\nnipple markers I must cross to exit.
\nIt’s time! It’s time to brake!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Wet pavement, jazz, some place to beat off. Down the street traffic jerks and coils like a snake. Behind the glare of neons phosphorescent nudes unbuckle dumb studs in peepshows, a buck for a bolt. Drive on. Drive on past cops and fat-ass wreckers sweeping up from a bone-cruncher. Change lanes. Wipe it off. Change … <\/p>\n