In that corner of the first wing
In the bathroom stall where I spilled my guts and shit and piss and elation
Onto typed keys and handwritten signs of emotion
Where I stared at inched tiles of light and dark gray and white
Attempting to express in some way, the roots of momentary shrill or delight
Smeared snot and jizz on stainless steel walls
Head gouge and dripping vomit from Friday and Saturday nights spent out
Two rolls of once present paper left empty at the time of greatest need
Trade one for another
Revelation for ruined boxer briefs
Ginsberg, Ginsberg, Ginsberg
Under Josam grate I scream your name
Maybe if I open a window
Snowing nights or rainy days will accompany your muse on the wind
And intrigue me once again, less vain.
