so I settled power and credit card bills with the last one
leaving just enough for a facilitation in Bangkok
before the Leaver gets paid, before the KL budget is received, before the lotto jackpot is won
after fixing a leak and a broken gentlemen's agreement.
There was PITX and failed registrations
the distracting massage parlors in Huai Khwang
but I came for the guilds and homesters at The Palazzo
for the smoked pork ribs, for the fried crispy pork, for the grilled pork neck
without compensation, with love, and with thanks.
Two more Amaranth shirts disposed
those that wafted of kretek with hints of Hong Thong
like sleep twice crushed by an Old Hag
salt crusted like broiled fish, savory like pork and noodles, tangy like grilled beef
and the love story of Marx and Lenin.
The crowd work but I did not shop
the garments are not mine and should be trashed
for a fee of 1,200 baht, for the price of $128
for a fee of 1,200 baht, for the price of $128
for a glass of tarty white wine, for a shot of spicy whiskey, for three cans of smoky beer
for a bus seat in Pasay's Friday rush hour.
The Shinobi slept before midnight
fridge ransacked, Saturday deleted, and I am free
fifteen good years and one more left for the Grim Reaper
Red Horse cold as ice, wine red as Chilean blood, kinilaw bitter as goat bile
we will live long and prosper.
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