Morning

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten

I see

you,

Drinking
whiskey-
cokes,
at a bar
in
Kansas
City.

Where

you

touch
fame
and
he
touches

you
back.

His
fingertips
along
the back
of

your
neck.

The
one
I used
to sniff
every
morning.

you

always
loved
fame, and
preferred the
company
of
those who
posses

it.

I see

you

hung-
over,
in
the
sunrise
through the
window be-
hind his
bed.

He's lying
next to
you

and
he
snores
loudly.

You

roll a
ciggerette
and he gets
up
to take
a piss.

You

hear the
piss against
the walls of
the toilet and

cringe.

That sound for
one minute,
then
flush.

He comes
back
and
he lies
down.

You

light your
ciggerette
and

puff.