hundreds of poems later

          (lost in my sick head

          i live for you

          but i’m not alive

          -alice in chains)

 

didn’t feel like waiting

for clothes to go through

the dryer cycle

put them wet in basket

basket to the bed

after the short walk

from the laundry mat

 

hadn’t showered or shaved for days

dug through an old pile of clothes:

frayed ancient jacket

jeans with holes

t-shirt stained

and walking shoes i should

have replaced months ago

 

sidewalk

first stop

750 ml bottle

bag i dug out of trash

so i didn’t have to purchase one

for a dime

 

and i’m walking

 

passing by this pretty blond

pierced, tattooed

laying down raps

small scattered listening crowd

 

she sees me

inspires into an improvise

 

“see that lost man

bag in hand

death warmed over

can barely stand

walking without

in a plentiful land

longs to be fed

have his own bed

trade it all for one instead

that a skank like me

would give his dirty cock head”

 

a city bus roars by

i realize she’s done

glaring at me

as if moments matter

the insignificant crowd

awaiting reaction

 

but

 

          i feel

 

                   nothing

 

move on

pull out my outrageously expensive phone

go to my music app

select,

aleah’s “my will”

 

light a smoke from my $10 pack

take a long swig from my bottle

and finally feel something:

aggravation that it’s now empty

and i just bought it

half an hour ago

and must deal with the inconvenience

of buying another

even though i know

i’m already drunk

 

you’re not going to engage

with accusations

they don’t even illicit exasperation

art is self-expression

searching the self

they made or make us put on a shelf

as part of the curriculum

pass or fail pending

your pacification

adding you to their subtraction

 

i’ve put myself out there

but a blog is a pound

filled with unwanted puppies

some eyes pleading “pick me”

some curled in a corner

body language lactating

that they have already been beaten

because they didn’t fill

your measuring cup to the right line

to make the recipe

according to your liking

 

and if you can’t accept me

make the effort to know me

and that is the me

you fall in love with

pass on by

leave me for the euthanasia

 

***