Matt, poem by John Dorsey

played the piano
read bukows­ki to prostitutes
while sip­ping steel reserve
and chew­ing on pain pills
as if he was doing com­mu­ni­ty outreach

at night he would talk about jazz,
art his­to­ry and how he once
had sex with his sister
to make his hands stop shaking
as his demons sang in the alley
just below
his heart.

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