morning on monroe street

the insistant chirps from
morningbirds chisel veins
through my bedroom glass
overcome only by an exhausted
train bellowing its arrival

monroe street, don't
you know

a borrowed beat of a heart
and belt, and socks
still covered with your hair
take the cake for
my Most Prized Possessions

banging on the floor now
because 8:40 is too early for
children
this 'bad' neighbourhood
in the 'questionable' part of
town is cozier than Hilton
could ever fathom
to one
[like myself]
who has slumbered upon
wooden panels and waif-thin
sheets
i have no double vision
left over from the prior eve
just a slow, steady
headache and the luxury of
stretching my limbs out on
Someone Else's mattress as wide
as i please and falling asleep
beneath all of the covers

solitude has its perks, baby
today
waking up next to myself
was bliss
in a subsidised wonderland
spotted with tiny square gardens
overpriced cars & peeling
rotten
paint
i write & i smile
& realise i am in no hurry to leave
so i play the saint & stand
purely against the reflection of
a sea of rusty trucks & dead leaves

my skin is smooth & my hair, tired
as it sulks back, is contained in a ponytail
i snake his belt around my hips
not missing a single loop
and step out today before i
lose myself in the thought