joseph james cawein – one poem

Posted: June 24, 2013 in Fiction, Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , ,



Whirling summer breeze,

dead air in a dead town.


Finger can’t itch my brain,

cure the bastard in me.


How much res you think there is,

last you tomorrow?


None of it paragon,

who knows the formula.


19 in Wisconsin,

beers on the Mississippi.


Doubt the doctor’s right,

I’m bleeding again.


From the brain,

the failure returns.


If you use your imagination,

life can be perfect.


Finger itches skull,

there’s something else inside.


Ass on bathroom floor,

I’m stoned again.





– joseph james cawein



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