famous blue insomniac

its four in the morning at the end of december
ny is cold i like where im living
im not leonard cohen
can outrun most nights reruns in the first quarter mile that is
into those wee hours counting smokes down
since there isnt’ another pack coming
it will always win when a dreary finish lined morning creeps around the block
head in a knot when it should be in a nod
heart beating on an old sleeve somewhere most likely with a stain next to it
well getting a beating
its a mess either way its looked at
late or early
distantly awake or close to sleep
from a fragmented fucking picasso iris


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