i told my friend

life is a
serial rapist
with a never
ending bottle
of boner pills

she said it would
make a good title

instead it is
a scab stuck to
this toilet stall
where i can watch
the pixels drain
from vibrancy into
a stagnant malaise
opaque like the haze
of sierra dust
hovering over dallas
a low lying cloud
laying lies in a
vaguerie of light

dimestore philosophy
from a gutter poet
just more shit smeared
on the camera lense
ruining another
fleeting calamity
and calling it art