life like a stomach hole
the days rain on
and the nights won’t stop,
so you just don’t stop them.
except you sit in the small living
with the radio,
wondering when it will fall
i have a burning in my stomach,
a possible hole.
yet i still take it one beer at a time.
it is collateral damage i am trying
and the shits are so bad, i’m
beginning to bleed out of my
asshole in small sprinkles
on the crumpled toilet paper.
this is not poetic
or the stuff of legends, you see,
but is foolishness i’ve learned from too much
and when i told you this morning
that the day i hear that my number is up
will be the happiest day of my life,
i might have been wrong.
in any case, you shouldn’t
because maybe i don’t,
and there is no sense in me making
out of both of us.
i think maybe i’d just like the rain
to stop pissing on me,
for a change of pace,
and for the bank roll to roll steady,
and for the world to shut up a little bit,
as i sit here,
reading another goddamned book
i won’t remember by the time i return it
to the library.