PARTY, PART 17

my dawn scribble is fading/patchy blue ink in fierce grooves

or

is it the light?

no; its the pen/cant face the desk clerk

to 

ask

for 

another

cos

i nearly DESTROYED his door before he could buzz me in

so i lick it and shake it and lay it on the weak iron radiator

while

i

drink

from

this weird vase cup

there’s a dog out there

sniffing the ground

like 

love

i

at this party/this DO/this successful CELEBRATION

sniffed the floor

too

like 

love

i

made people laugh spit on their sleeves

then brought them wide eyed back down

to

existential basics

with my 06 darkness 1000 god-blue dawns cannot break

FUCK! NAME!

i 

say  

chucking things against the wall

FUCK! NAME!

frustration and violence to deflation and silence

FUCK etc

(when really i am labouring in harmful delusion)

i remember saying

"lets drink depth charges till black come out our eyes"

to

confused brows and cautious refusal

hookers out there/out the window/in the Kings Cross night

of

naked

snacks

they take drunk men to the cashpoint

and 

me

at my window

am happy

to be above it all/like a god watching his awful children

so

so,

FUCK! NAME!

and she leaves with her man

who

had

his

hand

on

her/your leg

on

her/your shoulder (the tall CUNT)

and

i

never touched you at all