I don’t give a shit
About the jungle
Or your long trek
To profitable madness
But all my questions
Turned to coin
As I sounded out that place’s strange name
Sweating, mosquito-thick, blood green
Impossible to itch
That place
…
I would recount this purple story
To my shrink if
I had a shrink, but
I really don’t give a shit.
you locked the door behind, you what else
could i do? you were young, i wanted more.
in his suicide note K dreamed about
Freddie — admired, envied — never locked
their door. silent, wind and highway light crawling
sharp, i remember you mad against
the white brick wall posed as imperfection.
i had the locksmith come as a favor
he couldn’t have known, what else could he do?
i thanked him with cash, the actor performed.
you locked the door behind you what else
could i do? you were young, i wanted more.
in his suicide note K dreamed about
Freddie — admired, envied — never locked
silence then, wind and highway lights crawling
now i remember you posing against
painted brick wall posed as imperfection
i had the locksmith come as a favor
he couldn’t have known, what else could he do?
i thanked him with cash, i can think of worse.