Senses poem

Glass shattering from empty wine bottles, in a dumpster, in an ally way off of Hardware Lane.
1 a.m Saturday morning.
The CBD  of Melbourne does not dazzle me
The voice of a toothless Danish man telling me how pointless he thinks recycling is
I look past him as the lonely laneway hospitality staff finish their shift
I do not like waiting tables.
The sound of love in the room next to mine
The hotel Carmalina in Isla Mujeres (Island of women)
He is making her happy
She moans until rain drops drown out all other audibility.
My cowboy boots click clack within the Adams Morgan metro station, 6 a.m. on a Sunday morning. Heading home, head ache.
DC has given me another night worth writing about, but right now I just want to hear the train’s approaching roar.
Chill hot chocolate at Coco Monde
Warms my hands
Burns my lips
And the nice with spice
I swallow down the perfect mixture
Chocolate, Chili,
the choices we make
with the options we have.
Tequila flavored vomit lingers in my mouth
I lick my 19-year-old lips and gag.
the toilet stalls of this dormitory bathroom have no sympathy for me
Chlorine chlorine Chlorine
Can’t get my moth clean
I cough and sputter
My mother mutters be careful
But mom I wanna swim like the older kids!
Strange person on the street
Eyes linking, neither blinking
In the moment before we speak or walk on,
I believe you could be the answers to the prayers I never say
A young woman with eyes that don’t see me
Striking, light blue, staring vaguely out the door.
She barely takes my order at a Chapel Hill coffee shop
Peacock earrings
I watch her watching something far away,
and I can’t stop staring
What I don’t see in the snow in the West Virginian mountains
The coal companies blowing up the tips
changing geography for pay slips
one by one the mountains fall
and I stare down at it all
speechless at this degradation.
Coffee in a cheap restaurant anywhere in  Southern United States
A smell that announces free refills, that says to old men and families alike
come on in y’all
No pretension. from Kentucky to Carolinas…
Dear God I miss America some days
I walk down along my neighborhood and I smell it
meat cooking on a bbq
The scent of cooking flesh fills my nostrils
I forget I’m a vegetarian.
I become an animal
just like the one they are frying.
My mouth salivates and my tummy growls
The scent of the stranger who just passed me
You don’t know it, but I’m breathing you in.
I want to know who you are. I’m trying to smell your soul.
Are you fresh or are your rotten?
Or maybe it’s just old spice?
A bearded brazen man’s cheeks rubbing mine
and it’s cliche, but true, it does send shivers down my spine
You could kiss my neck with your mangy mange till tomorrow morning,
and I think I just might keep you up all night
After 30 minutes with heat 35 degrees I become my sweat
As I contort my body, hold myself up, let myself down
Hot yoga’s not for the weak.
My salty water stings my eyes, drips puddles on the floor
Runs down my arms as I reach for the roof, or the sky as the yogis like to say.
My backpack presses heavy as I try to stand tall looking around at a new country
Maybe Guatemala
Maybe Cambodia
Unrelenting pressure into my back and neck
Reminding me that I need to find the hostel
And I do not have a home.