Porn in the Park in a Tent in the Rain in the Shadow of a Church

Eating a wet bagel ’cause you had to twirl it on your finger.

I haven’t had bread in a long time and won’t have bread for a long time,

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The Morning

nothing when i wake up, no kiss, no love. 

maybe i’ll get scalded, maybe shoved. 

i might brush my teeth, 

or i might go walking. 

i forget if i know people, prolly won’t be talking. 

hope you’ve not left pills around. Who are you to paint my day? I don’t have a lover guiding my way. what poem always needs a sexual say.

Have it your only out.

Yeah I’m jealous. Doesn’t make you deep. Got an athlete-type infection trying to be all elite. I hate the beach.

Yours ain’t my route.

Wake With the Sun

I try to wake with the sun. 

I hear it’s spiritual, connects you to the Earth. 

I’ll read and drink coffee that should be tea. 

I’ll be hyper-aware of my neighbours’ gaze; they get up early for all the real reasons:

work, old age, superiority. 

And shouldn’t I be drinking tea? 

And now I’m angry. 

The sun feels nice, I won’t deny the sun does, and looks nice. 

But I consider the only motorcycle on the block ripping the air at 730 and think the driver a shithead. 

A shower and and two eggs. Yoga that I’m probably fucking up. 

And I’m spent. What the fuck is the rest of the day for? 

no company no inspiration no companion–where do I go from this? 

I’m lonely for when I was asleep and dreaming. tired of a day that hasn’t cleared the trees.