Especially if she's a writer

yours truly shaky fingers grope again for a no-filter
Camel
reach out for the sky
the beloved concealment
but surrender before they can drown
surrender before they can cum

or they claw at the cool actress' face
the dirty lips
they'll never again
recognize
though it's only three years
of boredom
& it's only a gallery of
losers
& she studies her Spanish right now
& I hope she studies it well
& I hope she got herself
a decent cock at last
& I hope he's a goddamn torrero
& I hope he kills her
each night

while my soul's been soaked in beer
soaked in barroom paint
in shit & piss & laughter
for ten amazingly long Christmas Eves
& tons of dirtbag snow alleys
& tons of dead absent
birds
not necessary at the wire
& I ain't no goddamn Christmas tree
though I'm all lit up
as usual

my soul's like this Camel's been reveled
in the treasures of the unkind
& the wisdom
of cheapest wines ever
bread & butter
or the nuns who've been offering me
shelter
when all I've needed was
a solitaire
fadeout

yet I'm still alive at the bar again
the one at Maine St.
the nice enthralling darkened womb
sheltered under the lightbulb
red
glow
makin' me think of umbilical
nooses
& gallons of bourbon
mothers
who've given me sweet
resurrections

and I know I swore to the Maker
and back
I'll never drink again
I know I become a bastard
but this here chick looks contagious
enough
to pour her another dollar
& have my whisky
served
cold
especially if she's a writer
especially if she fucks
harder