in the club part one

i’m not addicted to pills

i just love the smell

like autumn leaves

i would crush them up

and smell them

like the sun

or like rihanna

i would

love it if she sang

a cover of ‘hot stuff’

by donna summer

‘hot stuff baby this evening’

she’d sing

and her eyes would fill

with tears of pure diet

pepsi

like she had been staring

at the sun

dreaming of barbados in

the fall or like she had walked

into a room

and smelled the leaves

for the first time

and was dazzled

finally in love

 

 

in the club part two

a story about

someone else’s life took

off and became a self help

book after that it became

a nightclub

besides i worry that i’m starting

to sound like the club and

the club sounds like a python hissing

some seductive code

i’d like to remain idle like goethe

(who is goethe?)

or the clouds

as they molest

each other over the d floor

i’d like to offer the club a little possum

with pink eyes that dances

how many pills do i owe you what are my

limits again will i find new ones

in some ridiculous gesture like

a death stare or does it exist

on a bike pedaling out into

the ocean with no limit in sight besides

a lens with its magnetic finger

pointed straight at you