“Fair enough” is my defense
as I ache for release from the mediocre.

My city is a young woman.

Her chest hurts when she breathes.

Surrounding midnight summer fog.

Makes us let go of our prejudice but not our pretension.

She heals us.

She moves like a Hebrew Haiku.

This close.

Whispering sweet collective dreams into our ears.

Maybe this time will be different.

Maybe this time will be the one.

Maybe these times are born to howl these ballads.

I need a beer.

I need a young woman
who makes my chest hurt
when she breathes.

I think of all the sex I never had.

I am almost out of money.

Hotel rooms have shampoo bottles the size of shotgun shells
and there are smarter men who never got this far.

Prettier too.