paper office

37th street and 8th avenue, shining glass doors and a small elevator, the marbly walls like inside an egg, bright, and up in the box with the guy on the phone and into the dingy blue hallway, misspellings on papers indicating a business, something with trend in the name, a small baseballbat bottleopener keyring for the thin-doored bathroom, purple soap and white soap both, cooler in there. Paper house itself was quite warm, in between buildings, but meeting Ed and he removed his black pleather shiny satinlined coat from the rolling chair and gestured I sit down. The mashup of Mary and people bowed across a plaza in prayer, a quote about how if we humans knew what eternity actually was then we'd change every part of our lives. The gentle darkhaired about my age guy in a black tshirt, balding on his crown, looking at his phone, looking at his computer. The stained handsmudges on the printer. Dust on the floor below the window, the old yellowed panasonic airconditioner, the dirty windows, seemingly soot-covered by thousands of midtown years.

solonge

my last night at gayulz. hooooowwww do i put this. i don't know, i'm just a man. if anyone tries to get me to do aaanything before noon, i am such a sucker. i am writing a goodbye poem. i have full sentences now

okay, i don't

i am a liar

i haven't told you guys i'm a liar

which isn't even true, i'm just trying

to be a man in this world

when am i gonna fall in love again?

i don't know, what

are you doing

later?

okay, i do

i know what to say in a goodbye

dear... what even are you? i've moved in & out from you

3 times

i've never moved into & outof something like that

it's okay that i never want to see you again

that the last thing i want to see

before i leave is the worst part of you

the dank scary underground

with the stupid song 

the darkness

the place i kicked someone over

and would scrape someone off

the scary underground

that was my underground rumble

i am ready to destroy that shit

there's no paper in the world

strong enough to clean 

me

chasttity

 will I ever be as pure as you?

I have had sex with over five million people

I could name them all on

the worl'd

on the longest paper

I could write a continuous manuscript

on a roll of parchment,

but does that change it 

but doesn't that change it?

filled with all of the sorries

doing the let me explains

urging the hear, here's whies

switch ears, I'll give another

moral blunder

your pink holes

in your pink head

there is always a you, you

and it is about you

but

we like it when

the you changes

and you are you a new you

and the you doesn't hold

to the things about me, you know

and I hold to me

and you hold me like me

like the millions have held

like I'm held in the millions more

the cat barks at the no-see-ums

I flipped a switch of ghost, liking the term of a dirty switch and grabbing hold of it to self-entitle. Cocoa butter, a roll of toilet paper. A french press copper ashtray jar of lavender stems a bottle of black ink.

Get lost in the moss. My little stone's throw from a battering brook, a beating from that wayside burble, stones (like I) tossed in and out of tiny wakes. Buried bruised in sparkling pink of bath.

References made shatterable, from rhyme 

unravelling ribbon, spells outcast

my imploding pink sheath.