in old towns
I am tired to the bone.
to the marrrow.
to the blood,
sluggish,
crawling through veins
like greasy dust
from the back of the fridge...
old towns
have seen all my tricks,
so I am left
to grimy hands
taco meals
with the chatter
of the stained air
freeways,
trains,
and the ease
of slithering
into my old skin
for as long
as it will hold me together
on this western
sleepy
afternoon
in
my
old
town...