Summer 2009

I dont work a job in the day
and I have no time for hobbies
Instead I stand in my doorway and chew gristly questions
That taste like cigarette filters
That most people have chewed and digested by college
But I had doubt jammed in my gears
A four year old anxiety boy kept asking
Probably just sparking the apathy wheels
Into tension
To see some kind of motion
If only it were a daily grind (pun in tension)

I'm lazy and bored with the day
Its ideas refuse to entertain me and so I too often return the favor
I fuck around like I'm making a point
Personify everything, then argue with the sun for cutting and running
The heated sky apart
And petition (bitch) him later about the sweat in your shorts
And the ache in my gut that joins the chorus of shouting things
A loud nature, I wish it was polite
Left me some peace

Left my head out of it

At least attempted harmony if they have to go on like they do
Gave me better sentences to write than I do

_

For now

Go back to choking on half baked faith
Read about an ascetic you'd hate to meet
And an old ecclesiast's poem gilded in black ink
Running with the same thoughts you've had

Then dip it in the fountain doubts and wash it clean
Isn't that easier to read?
To forget?
Now swallow the rest of those loose connections
And pray you have intentions in your intestines