For David

Your attempts at whore fucking
and bottle throwing
make me laugh.
But I still see you
through
broken windows,
windows that we broke
together.
Bloodied up fists
drinking down
this concoction that
a preposterous man makes
in the back room
of a flat round home
covered in a lithium type substance,
the sweet smell of gasoline
that’ll make your body itch.
You know rooms are spinning,
the whores are coming
but we still sit here and
wrangle up a laugh
as to say fuck this masterpiece
and everything around it.
We still haven’t made it yet
but the ship is lowering down
to the bowels of some city
that looks as if it was another city
that we’ve already seen.
Still we say, “Isn’t this beautiful?”
while drinking down that concoction.
My dead grandma whispers
into my ear
“Remember that show,
you know,
the black and white one?”
I say “No.”
Only fools remember shit that’ll make you forget
where you are, right now.
Right now, I’m dancing naked on a roof top
that I’ve already been on
looking to the distance
at a fucked up face
trying to remember
how long
it’s been since I’ve seen my friend,
you know,
the black and white one.