Why?
Sometimes it seems I’m crawling
into everything everywhere
getting a taste of what I don’t want,
poor little worm
under night
drunk,
quickly on the road again
racing away
screaming
in my truck bubble,
too many wild parties
in my mind trap
writing too many poems
on the back of my hand
smearing a dream
putting the brakes on
finally
obeying the traffic lights
like so many of us
men to worms to men again.
Tell Me
Where will I go when you leave me?
I’ve planned it over and over…
Not really sure what I’ll actually do…
Sand in my eyes.
Pudding in my ears.
Lava in my throat.
Fire on my skin.
Tell me once more
we had it good…
Ready to Kill
Ready to kill
the old me
always noticing the negative,
questioning the good,
not believing the believable,
grumpy
lump
continuously squinting like a prune…
Pulling the trigger
now.
