I drink in the forty third floor A/C hum of my shiny suite Radisson

That sits on the converted porch they clear of dappled vines the week I move in,

Underneath the portico where the donor dinner handler drops me early,

The esteemed faculty there looks clear through me, we slept through a half century.

The wagon dies coming back in clouds of steam. We sleep in back, him in between.

Wine cheese dance the art opening, bellies touch and tap out in Braille possibly.

Conning my grey beard linguist prof, dials turn a woman he may wile away.

Kansas bar we drink beer blind to the rotor he steals from her car, she leaves me.

Losing at eight ball, so I say “Can she play?” the snooker bunny drops seven.

Her golden fool boy cocks and sparks the wheel lock, combusts sputtering radio.

My Yoko, she laughs, turn on to your future ex-wife’s day in your life oh no.

Kept high on his constructivist tower, my long locks tumble to her shogun.

I walk to the dark parking lot where my flat, without a number or a street,

With the door he fisted and paced “Got a gun. Are you in there? I know you are.”

Sex on pause gone silently soft, quiet zone’s sparkling hospital’s hill top scar,

“It’s intense out here,” he whimpers, I echo him forty winters, used to be.

If the earth, the moon, sun and stars’ gravity’s repulsive to me would I sink?

If one and all who notice this anecdote die or forget me would I think?

If she walks out of the movie starring me as a gentleman am I cut?

If my face dissolves in acid, reflects a twinkling little skull am I not?

(The hotel mentioned in this song was a Marriott, not the Radisson shown here, which is itself no longer a Radisson, appropriately enough.)