am i too drunk to type?

(reo speedwagon and hardwood floor splinters give me the cold feet with which to charm the socks off the spare-change girl that waits for me on pike street with a dollar and an antique smile that begins with a forced grin but it lasts a long while back into my narrow hallway and little dry greenhouse and the wandering paper coffee cups branded with a green cat brittle tongue lick my neck and sing me golden hits of the eighties because i can maybe bring them back and come back for air with the pretty girl in sunday's underwear freak-out freak-out say a prayer for me now.)