Regrets

I regret not writing everything down.

I have no notes written from the Chelsea hotel

two weeks spent living in a two bedded room with three women

escaping to the bathroom to masturbate

and sighing over wet bathmats.

A hot New york summer spent teasing my hair

and wearing vintage clothes

hot on the train to coney island

to see Joan Jett.

Walking through central park

wearing heady incense perfume

bought from saks 5th avenue

with too much money to burn.

Bee stung on the toe

still spending the time

inevitably, with another Australian.

Ex lover, ex soul mate and still most

Bob Dylan-esque character in NYC.

3am shitfights to find a hotel room

judged “by the hour?” somewhere to fuck?

Just somewhere to lie down

and shower

next to curly haired familiar body.

A regretful lack of notes from Memphis

walking through dodgy dark fenced parts of town

to hipster bars

shooting bad but free pool alone with Tess

drinking beer

happy in a derelict part of town

feeling a sense of belonging

despite platinum credit card

and expensive hair

talking to the barman

as equals

i dont think i was even smoking then

Regrets having no pen 

in Nashville

chasing fireflies

sick with flu

uncaring after drinking it away

Wrote a little in LA

but not enough.

Now left with images of 

melrose vintage gowns

and a feeling

of sexual awakening while

walking down wide busy roads

lined with shops but no people.

Walking all day

everybody else driving.

Sun on my shoulders.

Did I sit in the palm tree shade by the side of the road

or is that a made up romanticised memory 

Vegas heat

depressed misunderstood

massaged in the middle of nowhere

to feel touched, felt.

Haunted by judgement of families

at the slot machines

mens eyes on my short skirt

in line for the buffet

like a dish.

Walking kilometres of strip

with drinks in hand

casino after casino

looking for what?

the next stop

i don’t remember.

Driving through forests

stopping at gas stations 

buying small tokens of americana

even at the shittiest stops.

And an amusement park.

Constantly looking for a hotel

near a lake or body of water

to swim in the forest.

We never succeeded.

Rolling though fields

at Bethel

rubbing the cells of the 70s

on our bodies

in a cliched attempt at grasping

a remnant

capturing a nostalgia for something

we never lived.

in memory the light is always bright but muted.