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No One Needs a Dedication

(Viktor Robertovich Tsoy would have been 50 years old today)

Waking up in the drunk tank

and it’s not even Christmas

and despite that this circumstance allows for an easy Pogues reference

it’s a fucking hassle to be roused sloppily by homeless drunks when morning comes  

waiting to get a desk appearance

waiting to get out of the precinct

waiting to get a fucking cup of coffee from the man caged in his cart across the street

and it feels like you’re Tsoy at the end of Needle

stabbed in the belly, smoking a cigarette, walking off the screen with snow and presolar grains in your boots

jaded but contumacious

just like rock n’ roll itself  

vodka in a grungy co-op apartment

a ravelment in pointless revelry

a face that smells like kerosene

a yellow fog that fills a dying city

a constellation of stars that no longer exist

a legend that will burn our children whole

and if this heartbreaking burden becomes my new day

so be it

it’s always been savage here

no familiar alternatives

so, say goodbye to your mothers, sons and travel on

let this new myth become our truth like a maniacal woman might

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