a little hole in the carpet
it’s the sound of coltrane
on a rainy evening
a glass of wine spilled
on the floor
yet another bent spoon
burning a little hole
in the carpet
you don’t think of
yourself as a junkie
you are a hip cat
from another planet
with a bit of soul
and still a little class
a top hat given to
you from the last
homeless man you
stole cigarettes from
you like to tell that
story as a game of
poker among old
friends
even aliens believe in
honor among thieves
but as the sound builds
on that old record player
the thirst arrives yet again
you still believe in redemption,
love and whatever it takes to
get a piece of ass these days
and you’ll gladly get back to
that discussion as soon as you
find a decent looking needle
Horror Sleaze Trash 