Heaving Jazz

Western delusions
through my
pollinated head
heaving jazz
and howled erotica,
listening to sirens out of
townhouse windows,
smoking cigarettes,
outside of idle bars,
being awkward
with half-strangers,
kundalini rising,
keeping your
stories with me
while drinking
irish eight balls
in cozy yet
hipster habitats,
rolling eyes and
deep sighs with
much coughing.

My fucking god,
the bullshit that flew
carelessly out of your mouth,
is starting to reek,
good heavens sir,
cant you just shut up
for a second,
faint away if you must
for awhile,
whilst I listen
to your heart beating,
rhythms with
the tilts of the planet.
enough already
with the
half-assed rhetoric,
I mean,
I get grumpy with
so much,
weather mending,
headaches raving,
cancer reigning,
what not.

I tried to be calm,
casual in
my breathing
and speaking low
in dirty sex tones,
no offense,
just my nature,
coming to play
with the mist round the moon.
I was favored
in the twilight hours
by flocks of crows
roaring out
our deaths
on the pavement,
and I happened to hear
in your dreams,
talking to yourself,
signs of the crosses,
tarot cards and
wounds tearing
in the dark.  

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