with four of my butts
and two or three others
with a sticky roach
i found the other morning
a half-sucked mint
plus countless wiry hairs
from my beard
all floating in
a sea of white noise
from a tv set
the ash swims
like fresh snow
when the wind
hits just so
she never really felt it
as deep as our fucking went
all i needed was her body
and laughter and eyes
they all eventually
went grim
that other one reaches
too far, too fast, hasty with
naive opinions
and her sunny thighs must taste like
youth and fashion
but i won't make an absurd effort
to bed her before she leaves town
so soon
this other woman i only
know as a professional
persona, crafted slices of
herself into smart art
she tells her jokes onstage and
owns me when she tickles
the brain, but how to turn
fanship into friendship or fuckship?
this one had it for me
until another man finally
got the hint and started
to treat her like a right investment
now we're like contestants;
game-show people
among so much
pretense of subculture
the absurdity of pairing
obvious enough to me anyway
so i can hardly keep a
straight face today
i'm going to
fucking fill
this ashtray
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