now black bags sag well below my eyes i’m smiling sad
and can’t stop loosing my sadness into stern
winds and laughing faces I spin down the oil slick lane
a bowling ball in cahoots with the pins
did I mention i’m pete davidson or he is me
shaolin pilgrim at the deli buying gatorade
baconeggncheese I look diseased shoplifted kingly
in my yankee-fitted throne not quite
brando’s kowalski but honing an anemic attraction
exuding BDE i’ve been fished
from a sea of mob wives newports GEDs people regal
as me a momma’s boy with friends
who used to sling water balloon condoms at city buses
light cigarettes behind the handball court
like existential flares and I’ll never be colin jost or jerry seinfeld
i swear and my arms look too scrawny in cardigans
my teeth chomp at the laugh track my voice lacks that
polished observational timbre that raised
pitch at the punchline because i’m concerned with what’s
inside that gap between crowd
and stage my jokes are serious as flaunting kim k up and down
this deadbeat borough buying her milk duds
at the atrium ferrying her uptown for heavy petting
pesto burrata wu-tang blasted through
monstrous speakers as the pad fills with other somber souls
six degrees of celebrities night-lush
red-eyed gloam-drugged reduced to strobe lights and house beats
as i hover above myself thinking about our fathers
how they were ushered from the least to best known borough
how they were fed so soberly into the moloch’s mouth
