cro-magnon disguise

square pegs in
round holes
don't fit. but
you are ingenious

man. so you try
time and again.
ugh! grunt and
force. "me make

it fit." a messy
situation. look man,
you need assistance.
someone to direct

the most logical
of thought processes.
mezmerized minds,
get a clue.

why must I be
the brain of
a hundred
ignorant consumers?

little lost sheep
but I'm not your
fucking shepherd,
find enlightenment.

masochistic tendencies

drinking three day
old re-warmed coffee.
an oily film
clings to the

rim of my cup.
cold chef boyardee
on stale toast.
the burps, are

enough to induce
vomit. the hangover
of a twelve day
bender resonates

not just in my head
but the entire
apartment. the walls
throb to the same

beat as my temples.
a caterpillar has
replaced my tongue.
worming around in

my desert mouth.
a knock on the door
of the apartment
across the hall,

cracks my skull,
or seems to. I can't
escape the pain
which ironically

enough. I've chosen
to inflict myself.

garage floor

too much to drink,
I stumble down the
steps to the garage.
the hum of

fluorescent lights
breaks the
midnight silence
of my small town.

the click of my
zippo, light a
smoke. drag.
my vision

is blurred, my mind
hazed. I have to piss.
badly. no smoking
inside. her warning

rings clear. the
only thing. I eye
the drain that sits
squarely in the middle

of the oil stained
concrete. unzip my
pants and let go.
aiming for the tiny

holes, missing the targets.
I piss on the snub of
my cigarette. it hisses
in anger. at my

drunkenness or lewd
behavior. I'm not sure
which. I chuckle,
amused. trip

up the steps
and open the door.
eyes adjust to the
darkness inside.

the humming ceases
as my hand finds
the switch. the door
latches, closed.