"I'm not homeless, I'm just writing poetry"

I am sitting, by myself, in the middle of Chinatown.

I am wearing the dress that you bought for me on a whim yesterday, because it's so dreadfully romantic and wearing a beautiful item of clothing makes me feel beautiful, too.

I am drinking diet Agrum from a bottle- I am smoking cheap Ashford cigarettes that are more ash than smoke.

I am humming Iggy Pop's version of "China Girl" in my mind. Sirens keep interreupting the farily precise rendition in my head, though.

I am wondering about the occupants of the apartments behind the pastel-painted facades above the restaurants that I can't afford to eat at. Who looks down from the illuminated windows, over lanterns and ledges, from windows that look like eyes aswell?

I have with me;

1 long leather coat, from the Middle East, made in the 1970's

A book by Leonard Cohen ("Beautiful Losers") that you happened to lend me

and a magic-carpet-bag to carry it all.

I have a heart full of love, and a head full of ideas.
WISH YOU WERE HERE.