So,
I sleep on a futon on
the floor.
The sun hits me at an
angle, but from the
other side of this thing
I live in.
(I face South),
and I Wake Up and
try and remember if
I am lonely
This morning, I’m
not sure.
I worry more about the
Enemy Within, than the
Friend Without.
I sit down on the crapper and
read Bukowski and think:
Shit, everyone can be a
poet.
I sleep on a futon on
the floor.
The sun hits me at an
angle, but from the
other side of this thing
I live in.
(I face South),
and I Wake Up and
try and remember if
I am lonely
This morning, I’m
not sure.
I worry more about the
Enemy Within, than the
Friend Without.
I sit down on the crapper and
read Bukowski and think:
Shit, everyone can be a
poet.