Dance Dance Dance
Reading Murakami and half-assing
vodka gimlets in an old canteen,
I think everything will be alright,
if I can remember enough Japanese
to say: Excuse me sir, but where
did you get that goat suit?
Moving parts inside the moving
parts, from here I go to Hawaii and back
home shoveling snow. Mysteries
don’t hide in a Maserati, money does.
My friend the actor can’t stop
his ex-wife from eating his spleen
after screwing. I understand this too
and shuffle on. If you look at bad news
long enough, you’ll find the news ink
smudged and running with your name.