(meat
eating orchids forgive no one just yet – kurt cobain)
falling
apart
got
served
divorce
papers
it’s
my fault
i
am not only the author of
the
dark streets of decay
i
am the god of its creation
if
you google the aforementioned title
of
my collection of poems
only
i come up
it’s
that original
i’ve
outdone all my literary heroes
in
the art of self-destruction
i
texted jenny
i
wouldn’t fight any stipulation
just
show me where to sign
she
didn’t respond
i’m
a wreck
slept
in sweats
shoed
my feet
hit
midnight streets
in
what i slept in
no
brushed teeth
hair
everywhere
breakfast
bottle
almost
gone
cigarettes
but
nothing can spawn
a
me that is free from me
found
an alley
can’t
tally
the
totality of my inability
bury
my face in my hands
think
of all the strands
in
my contacts
i
don’t even have the where withal
to
call
what
they have to offer
is
not enough
at
this moment
i
can’t even find the right song
to
comfort
contemplate,
“loser” by beck
or
“creep” by radiohead
but
i just gulp from this bottle
and
light another cigarette
decide
this slow suicide
is
the only provide
so
i slide to the sidewalk
remember
the title of this volume is
“the
dark streets of decay: still walking”
select,
“sky blue and black”
by
jackson browne
look
around
down
the bottle
in
the fatness of my fray
i
waddle
survive
by recollecting
an
ancient acid trip:
i
was holding the hand of the devil
in
a cold slimy pit
both
of us reciting again and again
“nothing
matters”
held
together by non-existent threads
i
wed and then bed the goddess
the
greeks never worshipped
who
oversees the only tree
that
is left after the apocalypse
i
think the only problem here is me
i’m
the disease for which
no
one can find a cure
yet
i infect with a desire
to
be accepted
not
rejected
amid
your inoculated protection
against
my undulated injection
that
is a reflection
of
what you suspect to be true
but
cannot construe
because
the causality is me
***
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