10-23
More intoxicated scribbling:
Waiting for a voice to call my name
Waiting for the water to kick in
Waiting for the drinks I shared with my boss
to subside
Waiting for the curtain of my hair
to reveal a familiar face
lurking beneath the fog and mist
In a strange city, In a strange bar
Waiting for a studied stranger from afar
Waiting for a stranger with no cellphone (but a car)
and jukebox lights
and potential dog fights
beautifully ballistic bar nights
10-24
Take two.
As birds move from tree to tree
I am also transitory, directed
by the fickle whims of my own gender
though sometimes
sometimes a man with silver scruff
and mossy river stones for eyes
will casually take a seat
And sometimes stroll down
dark city streets sleepy and hushed
the others fill up loud bars
and quiet beds;
you fill up my head.
I crave imagined murmurs,
guttural and gruff,
that lips might allow to escape
in a small hot breath
like the fever of Bukowski’s fingers
on typewriter keys.
10-26
I went on a business trip this week and I am not all back yet.
Fuck, I don’t even have words. There’s too many places to start, too many new emotional avenues.
I
could talk about how it felt to be the youngest person at a swanky
business dinner by a good 20 years, and the resounding clink of my glass
against my boss’ as we stood as humans listening to music in a bar
together and not employer-employee. How it felt to know that my charm
works as well outside of the office as it does inside, and to know that I
am a welcomed presence. It kinda gives me a whole lot to think about.
Is there an actual future here for me? Could I spend a few years working
hard for these guys and actually get somewhere? Can my short-term goals
already have changed this completely?
My goals haven’t changed. They just seem so intangible right now.
Fuck, everything seems so intangible right now.
I’m
in another head-in-the-clouds phase, where my body is present but I am
most definitely somewhere else.
I’ll make eye contact and hold
conversation, but I’m out flying.
