Tuesday, June 12, 2012

37 flavors

don't kid yourself:
something kills them all-
finally it becomes a matter of
dying of one thing or
the other-

the swollen belly children
go the way of famine,
the young men give in
to glory of war

silver haired women
yesterdays muses
fade and crumble to dust
for want of love

the memories of spring
and sex and song
and sonnet all that
is left

blue teens kill red ones
and gravy took my old man

and only a promise made
to someone last week
keeps me from drinking myself
to death



sad

I drunk call
an old friend

I am sad
I say

Why
she asks

why are you
sad

I tell her
about my shit

things I think
that would

make one
sad

lies

she is sympathetic
caring

I feel less
sad

but I havent
written

anything in weeks

and I think
I am dying