Sunday, October 12, 2014

I forgot the memory of broken pistol-whipping
the careless void of your endless armpit conversations
you, who graduated summa cum laude, were now arguing with a mechanic
about motor oil
the sun had worn down the maps
to a faded blanched yellow
blue gatorade was the answer for almost everything
that and camel lights
I remember the night you spent an hour looking for a lighter
and then you ran down Calvary street
screaming "I hate you"
good times.