Single life is Tequila with a slice of lime, Shots offered my traveling strangers. Play them all deal them jacks, some diamonds then spades, hold back aces play hardball, mock the jokers.
Before long apps will be wiping our butts and we, others, our children will not notice.
I miss the feeding of the birds, these condominiums regulations, callous neighbors below me, Polish complaints. Their parties, foul language, Polish songs late at night, these Vodka mornings-no one likes my feeding of birds.
I walk through this death baby steps, no rush, no fire, nor wind, hair tangled− earth possessions strapped to my back rawhide− sun going down, moon going up, witch hour moonlight.