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