My studio by the sea

The incense

Cigarette smoke

The neighbors next door racket

The dirt, the grime

Reminds me of Grove Street

And Mac, sleeping

Angelic snores from a lofted bed

Where I sat, idle in the morning

Last nights memory a circus

Holding my piss, hungry

Waiting for Forest to finish his shower

So as I could relieve myself

And head back to Long Island

Where I’d dream of dying

In my studio by the sea

Left: Mac, Right: Me looking down the hall at Forest, BK 2013-2014

The last thing I told him

Some of us
have it
and some
of us just don’t.

The ability
to do
what needs to be
done

all the while
suffering
for a possible
weekend of fun

or a cookie cutter
vacation,
one
that everyone’s been on.

Some of us
have it,
while others
must go out with a bang.