I’m headed for Atlantic city
silly, I should have shaved.
We’re headed to Atlantic city,
shitty old buss.
New Jersey aint so bad
if your from nowhere pretty.
if I were going to NYC,
Philadelphia or home,
this Jersey drizzle
on a dirty bus window
would be reason worry.
I’ve apologized on this bus
(or one like it)
going from there from there.


Maybe I’ll play in a cover band
or serve you drinks
I’d like to think
your drink
would be strong
like I like to think
I am.

I think in Atlantic city
below that neon canopy
side stepping middle class vomit
and jumping over puddles
I’ll learn to dance.
But then maybe it’s too late for me.
God I hope so.

She took my armrest
(well, really alot more).
I think the poetry of living ends
when the posterity of writing begins,
glamor in broken bones
and vomit stains
american lore
and nonsense trains...
I quit.
She says there’s no train to atlantic city
and I’ll believe her.