erasure (unstructured units of time)
I’ve never been in love with anyone I’ve eaten at a French restaurant with especially a croque madam, eye flexed as I order a beer.
This comes to me passing a Pavilions on Melrose where Melissa and I bought condoms one night when it was very easy to not be in love and winter sweat and low-stress sex on Lexington.
Then the gods started fucking around, hammering mantle and spitting rotgut.
Everybody now breaking their teeth at brunch and biblical you a shatter in Brooklyn.
I want to know what kind of woman you’ll be when you’re sixty-five and I want to know when your sister gets married and notified when your mother dies and you could skin me every morning with a flick of your eyes sleepy on the side and petrified.
But I’m gone and Hollywood is a wince and I’m gone and I will eat you when I’m gone and the engine turns over gone so I flirt with an actress on twitter or spin quarters with married bartenders yes it’s awful still learning and my bones are a creek my head is emptied of honey and you won’t email me about checking out the hottest cam models, for free, but someone will, now, and everybody...













