on the outside portion of the bar
I go to put two dollars in the guys guitar case
even though shortly after he will be playing Wonderwall
to my unhappy audience, the bartender has left my twenty
inside the black leather case for well over 15 minutes
were already outside and I ask her if I should just take it back
"predators and prey" I say
or how I would never make a meal out of the singers tips
but that this bar feels different, a corporation that needlessly attracts
a constant stream of diseased mindless happy customers.

back at my place I want to fuck her on the balcony
but she seems either resistant or ambivalent
(and my dick not working)
was this like me speeding through that hilly rich persons neighborhood
some kind of proof to myself that I was there in the first place

the tv is moved into the bedroom for no particular reason
other than company, the sound and its light, the process
I can't remember fooling around or even wanting to
and at a certain point maybe this kind of zero proof builds to a full effect
a physical sensation when she suddenly sits up erect on the side of my bed
and hurls a lumpy yellow soup onto my carpet, a nearby pillow
and I'm mostly a parent--concerned for her and the smell
of a moldy can of Campbell's

in the morning we're awake too early
moaning intermittently about our headaches
I put on Bring Out the Dead with Nicholas Cage
a movie so completely batshit it's kind impressive or inherently perplexing
and I'm able to fall back asleep where I find myself in a dream
two pairs of someone else's panties in my kitchen
I'm looking back toward the girl asleep in the next room
wondering if she'll be able to see what I'm about to do

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