/ NO PLACE TO FALL /
Sex was there in the floorboards and I had that smell, that girly smell with the sour twist of lemon. Townes was there drifting in and out and that was plenty good enough for anything I’d ever want. And hey, with a beer in hand, I had enough to fill myself up on. There was nothing productive tasted ever, but there in the constant emotion of being human, I took a sudden bath of pain and love. And when I looked up at the dirty ceiling with its flaking paint, I thought simply: “I am what I am, and everything is just overly magical.”
In my notebook there were notes about the goldenrod, the weed, the flower with the yellowed-tempered teeth. I thought of my friend Sufjan and that girl he handed his life to. I thought about her cancer of the bone and brought a bouquet of passiflora straight to her ghost. I was alive and blind, and just as dismantled. The booze blurred gold, and I left my brain somewhere in the sky for the tasty storm of evening. Later, my guitar just spit out butterflies.