they put
my head
in a suitcase
where
martini oceans
house
killer sharks
with
no teeth
just
big lady lips
and
businessmen
migrate
like vultures
looking
in cocaine
mirrors
for
their own
temporary
death
and me
stuck
on this
concrete
island
with its
pornographic
flag
my own voice
crackling
through the
payphone
it's my one
and only call
from
a metaphoric
prison
asking myself
how i ever
became
a gangster
for
whores and
tortured men
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