Stuck in the dull
afterlife of a
ballpoint pen

can’t stand to
roll on by while
these
fools
live their lives

flies

crying out to creators of shit

or mothers stuck on the cigarettes

dogs running rampant through night streets
and I’m a part of them a part of their breath
emaciated
they sniff for the
last
bits
of pb&j
or
banana bacon
left over after a gorging

and I’m breathing that all in
with a glass in one hand
two fingers rapping on the bar
“keep em’ coming” I say
“Henry” he says “you’re here all the goddamned time
I hate to see you so full of drink
so sick and woozy on the booze”
“my life is none of your concern you nosy prick”

Tender
has a sweet piece of ass
I know it
I know his life
filled with sweet
blonde
love on a nightly basis

found my own sweet
blonde
love at the bottom of
a wine bottle

deep in sheets drawn tight
in the old german model
of a
sweet souls
secret love