i was sitting outside the airport
in a bus terminal
for something to come. i was in london;
22 years old
with 3 stuffed bags
and 50 pounds in sterling
sweating blue on my ankle.
i was watching these two kids kissing
a few rows ahead of me,
with their hands on eachothers necks
and their fingers
creeping into eachothers hair. i was there,
to get away from dublin
and setting out
and be the greatest english-language writer
since the translator of baudelaire and pasolini
that this could be some material. my girlfriend then
was in another country.
3 days were booked in a hostel.
the air was cold,
college was over.
no prospects. the bus
were everywhere. i leaned a bag on my hip
and opened a sandwich packet with my thumbs
humming to myself
like someone who felt