my life feels like
the lyrics
to a tom waits album
left
in the garbage bin
because
it was too hard
to relate to

just the memory
of his rasping voice
calling out
to the gutters
where the drippings
of famine
and family
once supped

a punk rock version
of cardstock
with safety pinned
pinings
puncturing through
the overindulgence
of rockwell’s
heavy handed strokes