He went mad
years wanting to
be left alone
seen enough
tired still
smoking drinking
heard enough
beauty’s interesting
everything else’s
not
In Copenhagen I drank and smoked a lot
nobody blamed anyone for anything
we were young and wouldn’t die for years
fucked and ate had friends that weren’t friends
no money everything was new and we didn’t give a shit
after living five years in Manhattan and Brooklyn
now almost every minute there’s a problem
the phone dings the car beeps and no one
ever stops talking I wish they would stop
I know a painter
who’s traveling
for seven years
spending his Danish
crowns on cheap hostels
wandering around
keeping a journal
taking photos
Instagraming
then going back
to give lectures
I haven’t been
home for 17 years
I haven’t kept a journal
since I was a teenager
taken a photograph
since I was thirty
and I’ve never painted