The Enemy

I’ve been to those workshops
free gigs
bookshops
dueled verse w/ best
American
pistols
had those pills
took the last
laugh
wrote two million
novels
centered round
death, one good poem
per six years of journey
festivals
beer pals
doctors & mystics
had them quartered
cotton blues
that bodhi earthquake feeling
gave blessings to strangers
miles far from edge room
rode elevators of improv
on blind necks of dusty
balalaikas
pulled into late
situations
wrecked
w a/ crazy curled
goddess
jumping from bridges
handholding

on every writer
a price tag
on every corner
a lesson:
the market is a weapon -

- the enemy in my bed
growing stronger
in numbers.