through power trip clouds and pretty eyed mornings,
the bloodshot of tears and not hangovers.
The cartoon temptations work their way through your
bones,
and then around your head in a dizzying halo
of white powders in baggies, blotters and brandy,
pens in hands, worry and wonder.
The devil’s in the details
and the details are in the wheel,
the wheel of memory you give a rough spin
every now and then to switch up the days.
Is your face happier in the rearview
or in these coalescing presents?
You wonder silently,
sometimes out loud,
but I can always find that question in
the spinning in your eyes.
The stars are clear tonight.
When will you decide?
And a poet as well I see! Very nice!
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