Tired sleepy eyed transformation awaits.
The unconscious cut in line
but are more lively than I am
and I’m mostly awake!
I’m wearing scruff,
no makeup or jewelry.
Halloween may be every day
but will be celebrated more than 50 moons from now
as I remain here in my complete lack of drag
save my Joy Division shirt.
“Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others.”
How much for a cup of coffee?
Just your self respect,
as I’m reminded daily
of orange shrimp with tiny baby hands
and the day I wandered
into his seaweed castle aquarium
to beg for sustenance.
Being stuck underground in the Heights
I should be panicked and pissed
about my horribly fucked up Starbucks drink,
but my Vitamin Water Whiskey mixture prevents this.
Luna Park
in headphones and I chill.
Whiskey
rushing through my veins.
Nothing
satisfies the bones.
The scrape on my hand
was unintentional;
one must not fist androids.
Mashup from decade ago
(or longer)
returns in Times Square.
My hands are blotchy
and I thought
the food seller bathed in Windex
but it’s actually asian hand sanitizer.
The hot random to my right is less than perfect
which somehow makes him hotter,
though he disappears at Penn Station,
undoubtedly reappearing for others
as he leans in,
kissing my neck as I continue to write,
still listening to Justin and Enrique
make love to one another.
Time to meet Monica
and ease on down the road.
(I’m returning The Wiz, if that isn’t too obvious)
“There’s no place like home.”
Written by Jason Wright
September 2018
featuring Monica Lane.