HUSTLING
i haven't been able to breathe well in over a week but it's okay thanks to the pink powder scent lingering on my lapel, sleeves, beard, brain.
money is fake, she says, energy is real. show me around, i say, you have so many rooms.
so much space.
in the morning i can't get out of bed but i'm not sick.
other people complain about the cold but there is no home like an old Levi's fleece stained by sunlight the color of dead skin. the sky? burnt orange horizon, pale blue dome. the bitch? spry and restless, full of energy and restlessness. the woman? alive and full of love, love, love, love.