Farang

                                   A smirk of warm air

                                   mocks my peeling cash bag skin.

                                   The king's flag sleeps,

                                   The no-name dog smiles up.

                                   The air accepts a yawn of jasmine smoke

                                    and shrugs.

                                   Slim brown bar girls offer out

                                   the gaping gash of loveless love.

                                   but touch no hunger, only appetite.

                                   I have already squeezed the juice

                                   from juice with attitude.

                                   And money.

                                    A lizard in the Buddha house

                                    regards my Danish beer.

                                    We nod at at what is reptilian

                                    and form no views.

                                     We shed our skins.

                                    Barely a spectator at my mute karaoke

                                    my lungs respond to physics.

                                    Yet I do not breathe.