Feel like doing something stupid
Jump off a bridge, gun in a mouth,
anonymous sex
Bored cliché
Vomit in a parking lot at a Wendy’s
lunch time rush
Shit, back to this
Atheism how are you doing?
Interpreting sky lights and innuendo
from a place beyond the atoms
As if equations balance to observers
so close to the mathematics
Back up shit for brains
Romantic-dreams of poets and
burlesque-dancing psychologists
Have no stage to share
She wants to muse and every man is a
glass to pent the butterfly to her
Fuck that; she puts her own shackles
on to get off on it
Rough in control no, you be in control,
no give me the reins back
Oscillating like a dam lever-pulley
simple machine
He’s better off without the drama
But the alternative tastes like
Saltines and geriatric oat-meal excrement
Spoon up the banality in a suburban
tether
It all comes back to the kid he
didn’t let die, kill
Afraid so damn afraid he disgusts
himself sometimes
Pick a side, alive or dead, lover or
family-man
Neither wants you so jump
motherfucker, jump
Pull it asshole, pull
The numb ache contemplations just
make the pill bigger to swallow
What needs to be washed away,
drained, forgotten
Hope, you had me for a second,
bastard poetry you made me imagine
Like a glimpse for peeking at a sun
She knows she is just a big flaming
ball of kill
You did too sport; at least you got
to read Thunder Road for that minute
Town full of losers….
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