gonna live a true poet’s life

too much wine, too much debt, too much internal angst

ink stained fingers and suicidal daydreams

embrace the rot within

does any thing else matter besides clever word play and vague substitutions

no

start drinking coffee as four a.m.

wine at six

whiskey at ten

supplement cocaine when the spins take hold

heroin to sleep

meth to keep the spirits dancing in my life long inebriated danse macabre

spin myth and folklore into common cotton vestiges of manic depressive urges

hope someone buys the trash i peddle as art

so much waste spouted in verses that equal the nothing in my belly, in my mind, the rotten apple at the core of my innane rambling odes

a one eyed archer shooting heads instead of fruit

a one legged tapdancer out of time with current trends

a mute opera singer hissing into an empty theatre

sleeping under bridges like a troll waiting on three billy goats to torment

this poetic car crash

this mangled metal and shattered glass bed of solace and lupine ferocity

smoke and mirrors

parlor tricks to con the coins from empty headed countesses

a stick figure passing itself off as a marble bust

counterfeit bills and wooden nickels