Your deathly witch voice turns me on,
Conversing through the speakers in tongues
As I crawl from the coffee to the cigarettes.
Smoke haven is a safer place
Than the grey real world bleached just past the window. Travel from the Chelsea to the grave
Pay no toll, saint, pay no toll.
All the muses stare at the empty page
Nothing to smudge, left hand is still.
Crawl down to the bar to fall down.
Hank Williams plays softly
All the answers in three crackled minutes.
Time at the bar
As my corpse quits, in a cheap suit.