the week before seeing him i
disparaged my youth and willpower
with dominos and alcohol and cocaine.
the scale climbed and i sat higher
on the mountain, wholly unsure
of how to get back down. i felt
unworthy of him, a weird gracious
divide. then told myself:
a man gives just enough
to thunderous applause
and we made a statue
of it. the whole scene
just riddled with ashes
left over from
london fashion week
and is the motivation just
money?
throwing paper in the wind