I spent the day in bed listening to Joshua Clover
and a good friend in Europe talking about how
uselessly American I have become over the years
of watching teen flicks and stumbling out of cars
with ash all over my pants or Southern breath.
Its dark at 5: 30 p.m. making it seem like its at
the other end of day, so right now I’m writing this
poem from China right after the genocide at
the opium dens where the weary went to
lay on the floor and look sad as hell while
the Lumiere brothers made a thirty second
movie about, well, anything that they could.
Did you check bbc.co.uk today? while I was
reading The Map Room because it’s the only
one of his poems I could find online;
Has the internet become the new moon?
In that case, ill read the horoscopes off
the freckles on your back and be anything
but a Taurus because I cant change when
I was born and I don’t believe in any of
that bullshit anyway but I want to lay next
to you knowing or not knowing that
tomorrow will be there,
laying next to me.