A Means To An End.
I call prostitutes
For the conversation.
A patient ear.
A bought ear.
A little discussion over cost
Is the profit to abolish my loneliness.
When they show.
I explain how
She can sit
And look pretty.
They like that
I talk about
Or Henry Miller.
And my drug abuse.
They're used to sadness.
Adapted to it
Better than most therapists.
Content with the idea
“Company is company.”
Once they leave
I pick out the dirt
Maybe write a poem,
Or take more pills.
I'll look outside
Stare at the streetlights.
Waiting for the shadows
A.j. Binash's Other Poems
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