Surrendered
to the ashtray,
the bottle,
the writing desk,
and fell down.

Dollar bill,
dollar bill,
claiming me
off the floor,
picked me up.

Made a pact
with the dollar bill —
let me go and I’ll
let you in a bit.
Give you a little finger,

don’t need that to write,
smoke, drink. 
But it’s a hungry
slip of paper.
It’s a damn hyena.

It’s laughing
all night now,
sticks in my dream head.
I see it wanting me,
I want it to eat more:

take me, dollar bill.
Let’s get stuffed — me
in your craw, you full of me.
I’m open to being consumed.
I’m a meal ready to eat.

At least I’ll have had
the time before.  Had my moment.
Had lean times, they weren’t much
good to me.  Was rich in art once.
That’s fine. You can have me now.