okay not one of my best. but it's fucking 60 degrees in NYC in the morning (WHAT THE FUCK?), i'm hungover and in my boxers, and frankly you're lucky i'm even up doing this, this morning.
idle life
well there is
nothing
this morning
but the news
and schubert
and the sound
of cars moving
up the rainy
street.
i think of those people
out there so early
while i’m sitting
in this hot
apartment
during another bland
lifeless november
trying to play
at artist.
how do they
not do themselves in?
make a left
over some embankment
and end it all?
why haven’t i?
but then i realize
we cling to this
business
the senseless doings
of life.
it keeps us busy
keeps us away from
madness.
it is sad.
and we’ve never
been trained
any other way.
so run, good mice
run
because the sun
is coming up
and the cheese
keeps getting
further and further
away.
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