Poem about switching back to smoking and how cold it is outside. Written during an bubbly RPAN broadcast.
EXT. BACK OF ISRAEL'S APT. - DAY
I don't recall dependence dragging
thus before, chain gang metaphors
oblong and obvious. Choice vs
will, a briefing on clinging
to death in life, etcetera: midst
of sobriety we are fucked up
don't shower. Lent golems stack chips
and count cards for burnt bricks
and insomnia rent. Cold open:
I've picked up smoking again
after chemical alternatives
farmed chest jellyfish.
A friend calls who I'm short with.
I pass time with plump diversions.
No rest for the unobservant.
No comments:
Post a Comment