my mind lives in a Parisian cafe,
where it sits
and smokes and mulls
over the thoughts
of an after life,
useless hands work useful levers
and I grow vain
working class

calluses

at night I plant
the seeds of rebellion
of anarchy
and revolution!

we soak them,
we nurture them,
in the breasts of wild women,

in whiskey and pills
in the midnight hours
in political rants of what could be
all the while knowing

what is
and what will be