I used to slap my money on getting off again - a bet that was safe and ribbed for her pleasure then

But alas, my bills turned blue and rank and eventually, even a hooker would have told me to get to work and the fruit flies would reiterate it but I was too busy doing pink cocaine with a swarthy-looking and mustachioed dude - a dude whom was full of it and of face tattoos - that carried around a wrecking ball just in case, that he limply swung at my closet door mirror one time, and he wore shades indoors and raved on about how love is God and that he was chosen

Another guy with a cyanide molar said he’d fix my bike, but last time he came by, he slipped in like the wind that blows guilefully behind your standard cat-burgler or K.G.B spy

Invariably, lies were all he ever brought - lies and sometimes a grape-flavored Backwoods-brand blunt, and a pack of Montego reds

Ever discreet, his gimbled words would remotely encrypt to the point where he had to use the vocoder microphone on my Korg MicroSynth to articulate anything at all

Messages all in invisible ink that only pawnbrokers can read

Messages that - like I then - would self-destruct

He had Google Glass eyes that looked down and around a lot, anywhere but my eyes - a shadow-man that not even the Neighborhood Watch could make, spot or define

We would communicate in Cesar-cypher or Morse code that we would blink to each other

It was either that or we might, with 5-inch voices, whisper into paper Dixie cups that were attached to sneaker strings but then he let go of my libido and something snapped and from the high and windy precipice of a vined brick-building, girders swung back and I would attribute this to his bumper-lane vocabulary and his sense of humor that was like a weak chin...It’s there but that’s about all

The only thing to do was to click heels and saddle a Greco-Roman candle, then let the bottle kick rockets quick, up to the firmament, and let it do its mooning thither in the Chinese side of space

Now is as good a moment as any to say…

No

I don’t want that

Any of it

But I do want to state:

“Pitch of morning's tumbling high-hell, my greetings are now goodbyes to thee

My welcomes to thou farewell”

I beheld and felt so many things, and shopped around for the right mirror with the right feel to it - one where I would approve of what I might see therein

One with a kickstand and holographic grip-tape

I know what I want and I know what I don't want, but in regards to what I am...

So far I've only chosen what I am not