VII.

 

HABIT—ALREADY THE END?

 

 

 

 

Nana goes

Nana is coming

Nana fucks

Nana passes

 

Nana thinks

To leave

Then doesn’t think of it

Anymore

 

One two three

I swear

One two three

 

One thousand francs

And a wee

Sip of white

 

 

 

 

In the stomach

The sensation

Of swallowing without

Filter or saliva

 

Sandpaper

Rust and filings

Vomiting

Twice already

 

Between two passes

Lapped envy

And the unenviable

 

Brick at the end

Of a hard

Busy day

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