the music venue

sex-stringed guitar/my head
fall, up and out, up and out
to the noise. it's dirty and
the people are magazine cut-outs
dragged out of my head, up and out of here.
tramp stamped on my right hand like i'm some kind of criminal. they start
to play, stop, give a little more to this one, perfect.
i'm perfect, i say,
when my eyes are closed. up and out
go my inhibitions. i pretend like situations turn out differently
or that i'm on a wonder drug. but then i wake up and out.
take a taxi home
and eat the rest of the peanut butter.