in all seriousness i don't know who did those things.

those things i tell stories about.
she was drunk mostly
that girl whose life i led

carelessly and furiously
with death always calling like
the creditors

both just a beat behind her next move

now i rest. i sit on a couch and watch bad TV
and regret nothing.

the wanderlust bites.
the dreams and hunger bite harder.

so i rest. i breathe. i wake in the morning.
i get to work on time. i put reports on the bosses desk.

i scheme. i think "i should have been doing this all along."

that girl, her breathe has slowed. she is not dying or dead.
she is resting in some gas station parking lot
like an unrevved engine.

one day she and i will meet when i can afford her company.