Samsonite (p.)

After December 2014, I was half-
ready to got sailing into the darkness of 
mortality for the 3rd time. (*It'd 
take another 2-plus yrs. for that.) SO/but 
I just put the majority of my things into 
storage at this Gillian Acosta-girl's 
 excuse of a house 
out I forget exactly where, and took the rest of me... 

with a backpack and a few suitcase--one 
of them this Massive Motherfucker ap-
parently called A Samsonite because 
 that's 
what this 30-something-year-old white dude 
called Dutch called me when I had to haul 
the crazyshit from the Snow Terrace Overnight 
Shelter down to Hamilton/Clinton St. Poughkeepsie 
via bus via foot via hustle via heart. 

Don't ask me (exactly) what I had in it 
 was so important: 
I spent at least...some...of the time 
washing 
or moving 
my ass. 




**** 

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