Not your problem. No solution. Never help.
A new bird every night, he’s still not satisfied.
Do you have a girlfriend, John Grater?
Kill My Afternoon (for free)
My scales are growing thin and I think I’ve seen them rust in the back of the truck taking 225 in a race to top the line. One sex above the rest compete to squeal how endearing my ode to self-service. There’s a sun tucked away right outside the folding of this dream. I remember making love in a sleeping bag underneath the glory and folded somewhere in between. She told me, “it’s no wonder why, but why would you want to?” Unhinged in the pine for a lost cause. I nodded. Something about kicking dirt and my feet as they move in and out of the frame. Repitent with disinterest. English may be my mistress but it always syncs up if you listen long enough. Gracious. Not listening to me. Only screaming the echoes from TV, “cars don’t come with instructions.” One sided intimacy, devoid of all the ecstasy and with a pleasure akin to a blistered hand. Buried the old man. One plot down from the north side gallery. The view that killed my afternoon.
Trapping cats in my room all day
Leather bound eyes,
Dress slips off the shoulder,
Falls to the floor,
Like a newspaper cutout from before the war,
Slips back into malaise,
Dead only for the day