kind of like how eventual death justifies smoking cigarettes

liquid sleep gel tablets sliding gently down a dry throat
the man enveloped in the summer heat
essentially palpable heat
humid air also stale and biting
like the atmosphere was made from grass clippings
like the air itself was converging maliciously at his position
the sun raging up in the morning like a buzzard circling the dead planet
spotting the tracks in the sand
peaking over a nearby breakfast restaurant
the man will wake up and stretch and piss
and things will be more or less the same tomorrow

the enigma variates

my dad said ‘I’m fifty-two years old
and I still get acne on my back’
and I said ‘so’
and my dad said ‘so life doesn’t
always turn out like you plan’

baboon

couldn’t say no and now
I don’t want to be here for another year
i don’t want to be anywhere for another year
let me turn twenty six so that I can get over my
quarter life crisis
and move on to my mid life’s one

swing low
sweet chariot

I own too many mirrors
too much plastic garbage
I am walking to the gas station
to buy sweet tea
and a forty of medicine
on a credit union debit card

coming forth to take me home

think about heaven as I watch television
clouds dissipating in my hand
a more or less profound vapor
try to elevate
figured it was impossible
bone spurs on my elbows
rip into the couch
meat hooks, hooking meat

swing low
sweet chariot