Saigon, shit:

it’s Saigon, it’s jet lag,

and I’m not a big Valium fan,

or of counting sheep

(or of reading Conrad),

and I don’t feel like loving myself

with just my hand

in the middle of the Apocalypse,

so I go down to buy at a lolitas store,

to the five and dime on the corner,

something new

something old,

something borrowed

and something blue,

so I chose Wo,

without any more name or love

or background or last name,

just Wo,

for, minutes later,

stars under the Sheraton’s rain

(electric delirious

spongy strong soft):

Vietnamese shower,

previous lack of pumping

and, after navigating the Leviathan together,

Sitting Bull I have finally died:

I go to the room

for my wallet,

I pay her

and I pour myself some verses of Johnie Walker

over the cubic solidity of the water:

God is all around.