For Bert Chen

Faster than a clemens curve or careening off a highway cliff because the night is so much thicker here than humid nights on Jersey shores. Bridge and tunnel bruise and fly: to experience the sensation of trust let go of the rock. Oh this is how we roll: digesting G-d in a bowl of tendon and tripe. Worshiping his knife work, commerce, a labor, let's not get crazy, but I've a lesson to learn in random geometry. Lady luck's a tough old sow that blessed few and cursed tomorrow's suckers. Listen the metro's a dirty place, but you wouldn't ever ride the bus. When the mechanics of a penis on four wheels find expression between the champs d'elysee and boulevard st. michel, it'll be the sound of pigeon wings: this is called the sauce and you get to decide if you're on or off.