piles of bottles
piles of bottles
on the floor
no ambition to pick them up
piles of bottles
on the floor
and another year rolls in
like a sloppy suicide
the faces on the street
they lack charisma and charm
they are as ugly as mine
they are cigarette ash and hungover memories
and exist for nothing else
but to pay taxes and die
piles of bottles
on the floor
and the oven is dead
and the refrigerator is dying
we are overrun with morons
claiming that they have the will to lead
while i sit drunk on the couch
paralyzed by their audacity
piles of bottles
on the floor
rosy red and once full of courage
but now my heart is like an onion
baked into the center of a chocolate cake
a lump of cold shit
on a pepperoni pizza
there are piles of bottles
on the floor
and if i clean them up
they will only come again
like thanksgiving
like christmas and the super bowl
like love and death
cold coffee and burnt dinners
like election day
worn on the breasts of well-meaning fools
like people who love the summer
and the fucking
fourth of july.
--John Grochalski
No comments:
Post a Comment