One Night a Lightweight at the Red Line Tap Listened to Music

I’m sitting in Roger’s park 
Getting re drunk 
Soul enlightened 
Where my notebook? 
Femgirl how shocked are you 
Cukuee twisted 
Remembering words 
Buddha cigarette from the MN

(I met a young man who died 12 times. I asked him what stopped him at 12. He said the 13th one would have been real.)

I was sitting in Roger’s Park
Having a glass of wine 
Soul lifted 
No notebook — not even a pen to steal — to document what I feel 
Farm Girl, have you ever foreseen this? 
Totally twisted, 
I know I won’t be able to recall this all word-for-word

I wanted to bum a cigarette from the bassist 
Careful what you wish for… 
I volunteered to help him quit his habit, lighten up the pack

I ended up with two cigarettes while I chilled in the back

(So then I was given a ride to my truck since it was a block away, being that I was already chilling in the back seat of his car. I traded back my boots with his friend since I took her brown heels.)

The snow made me sleepy 
Hypnotic powder, clumped on the expressway 
The radio played slow jams 
Lullabies 
Wake up, 
wake up and grab the toll payment 
“Where you headin’, darlin’?”

(I’m headin’ back to the place where my folks got hitched back in ’92. Back to the place I became Catholic. A place I have vague memories of running down its streets as a tot since it’s a place for day trips. This spot “feels like Paris.” It’s the place for wanna be’s claiming that they’re queen be’s, despite living in the middle of cornfields like the sheep they are. A place that got me to where I am today. I’m going back to a place on a Boulevard, to a tiny white house with two tiny black cats residing within. There I will kick off these boots, strip down, and get in my bed. It’s already 2 a.m., man. I’m beat.)

“Geneva.” 
“That’s not too far. Drive safe.” 
“Thanks, have a good night!”