by Steven J. Serafiani
I’m burning up.
got drunk last night on whiskey cubed at an establishment built on those bored old faces, worn faces.
missed work today.
fleeced my feline lay a bout day steeped in foggy lucidity.
a two week paper signature cash, every two weeks- get by for another two weeks.
I gambled my insanity while smoking bummed by my bedroom window.
I look around my room at shit accumulated.
sell it old man, you’re not old yet.
sell it all, pack a bag and leave.
society don’t need you
wander this parcel in search of courage and truth.
lip lock different slender every night in the cosmic milk splendor that is female.
write about what you have not written;
and all those wasted years.
you’re not as lonely as you think caribou
wander the wonder