Insomaniacal
I
see my posts and I wonder
what
sort of fucking state
did
you have to get into
before
you thought you could face the whole
world
your
teeth stained brown
red
wine and heroin
and
I am not proud of my choice
of
off the shelf prescription
I
just want to sleep
like
the snow
that
when it comes brings a town to a standstill
and
I do not want to stay alive
to
see what comes
of
another meltdown
If
I had a gun I’d be even more dangerous
to
my head than the unspeakable hours
I
chalk off like a debt
to
existence itself
while
in me the strong wind blows
taking
out my windows
nothing
it seems will take my sails out
not
cutting nor cursing
nor
cooking
they
all speak to me of the alive
while
I burrow in rags
nursing
so
many past wounds only a slave would brandish
his
past crimes seeking out an audience
in
his infantile search of some kind of
humanist
justice
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