My husband passes out on the bar

And I order another drink

Smooth Jazz from somewhere

On the street is pretty

the way nature is wrong

I light a cigarette

Hit Fire Machine

The salary men unsmiling in their suits and 60-hour work weeks

Shuffling all serious and orderly through last night's hangover, Shinjuku

That's right.

ZC would light them up

For me while he penned serious little notes

About Roth IRAS and Wittengenstein. A reliable

man, by all accounts, who'd tell me what to do

with his body

Now that consciousness is aloof and in leisure like a cat

at the door,

things are fine, either way

but the door must be open.