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I finished this one with a sincere sweat: with nothing on my mind but a bath and a trip to California. If other lewd individuals are looking for a way to “celebrate” the first day of winter, check out these Musical Parades happening throughout NYC tomorrow.
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A Prayer, Barely
Curled up in bed with a woman
Curled up in bed with a bottle
Rarely curled up in bed with a book
Curdled
like milk in a poor kid’s stomach
breaking the beating coming up
This life sure is rough
A bitch with money on her mind
voiceless
with too much stock in fevered dreams
But I don’t sleep
I don’t vanish
instead I wander
like a nomad with eyes of Benzedrine
a nightmare on my shoulders
a nightingale in my breast
to remind me of Keats and his commitment
memorized, but impotent
my lucent bonhomie has hardened
turned to a gravestone for a heart
by love and interaction
and the death of friends
I’m getting fearful
knowing my own time might be drawing near
but it’s hard to leave this spoon unknown
longing for Big Sur like heaven
covered in whiskey and past mistakes
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Painting by Harland Miller
Other work by Harland Miller available at:
