Poems by Kelley Davidson

world traveller
think of india: skeletons sitting, shitting in the streets. they are saving their seeds.
think of athens: junky from germany pacing in front of my hotel “american, american? tight bitch? got some money, bitch? got some fuck?” hes all green lizard skin and caramelized sweat; i could probably peel his face back and find the devils hand stuck deep in his head, giving him tourettes, DT’s and the sweats.
think of the sweet swedish bartenders covered in glitter on the islands, stoic smoking cigarettes pot and pouring shots hiking up their tits for the two euro tips going back home to identical white box houses heads aching from house music and then taking a long shower. she wanted to be an actress, you know.
think of these my only bones, me the walking open wound, cerebrum circling around other souls’ maladies. when how many of them gave a bandage about my cuts, or a nod?

up the stairs, wind on my calves, hello cat.
too cold for september. can it be september already?
in june i lived in a tent with whiskey and hunting for wood every night
and a fire, my dreams danced all around it
you could look over and see them waving, waiting to be invited to share the fifth and the light
tell me a story, dream, and ill then tell you about yourself
now i smell their refried beans, sopa con pollo
hear the mexican traditionals bellowing from next door
and i want to knock on the door and tell them that its okay
that i am homesick, too.

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