empty and laughing
at half-hearted destruction
the faces fade
and the glass runs low
how to define
humanity’s willful pollution
my back is sore
and i have an ingrown hair
in the most unpleasant of places
my cats don’t listen to me
and my telephone never rings
it’s alright though
i have lots of books
and plenty of abstract time to kill

in a world filled with
unsavory characters
chaos and luscious retribution
mean little
and not much changes for me
i eat and work
drink and dream
write and sleep
love is a distant memory
and sometimes rough dreams
are an acceptable escape

the tyranny of modern life
fortunately, remains distant
and with any luck
i’ll be able to continue
to eke out
this modest existence
and pursue a path
of heavy flesh
balanced in
a nervous spiritual nest
waiting for another
clouded ritual
to carry me home