Awake at 4:00am washing t-shirts in shampoo, reading mails in bed
blurred vision, copy notes for the book from my phone, send emails
to myself, a new track fresh in from a Manchester boy, a friend who
should’ve been legend, he was always better than me, a cellphone in
the dark bed. Manchester reaches out, city I love, feel it’s dirty
street energy, it’s cracks breath, it’s rough hewn glory sings
the way the Roses did years ago when I was alone here in LA.
A throaty muscle car circles outside, I like the way it growls,
the aircon units whisper to its themselves, mine’s always off,
windows open, inhale deep between the dark sheets, watch the lights
up on subset through slatted blinds, traffic begins to breath on
La Cienega, then first birdsong. I want to sleep on the roof,
but I’m too tired to move.