in the nine o’clock hour
typing bold machine speak
last night late and long conversations
got a bit cyclical
but still he reflected on not losing control
in the loosest times
not regretting what you may have said the morning after
then this morning rolling down a suburban avenue
on four hours sleep
dry nose
jittery eyes
on the verge of angry coffee sweat
watching the flashing lights starting blocks behind me
praying for the speedy getaway
I thought
that’s all I seem to be after, pushing it so far
every dime aligned for a course in crashing
reviewing texts the next day too
I definitely felt a wave of that debilitating butterfly belly
looking back and hearing no sirens, seeing no replies
typing more and more fleeting revelations
‘cause “once the music leaves yr head, its already compromised”
this is therapy
costing only
all my money
my cells
my frame of mind, thrown off
like a pair of torn underwear from a convertible screaming down ross island bridge
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