do you ever
blink
your eyes
because everything
takes on the
cast
of an

r crumb comic

for just a brief
instant
upon waking
feel like the floor is a
vortex
pulling you
into a hellscape
search
for the american dream
while hunter
shoots
a revolver.

some days
i feel like a
discarded
screw top
from a cheap
red wine
that rolled under
the couch
to be a coffee table
for a family
of roaches
in bukowski’s
apartment.

but it is
the tangible smell
of cleveland
dismality
as everything turns
ugly
that feels oiliest
on the page
after

r crumb scribbled.

that’s the kind of
filth
that stays with you
exposes you
as you scurry
back
under the toaster
with the rest of
your brood.