At the moment
of his greatest despair
he leaned back hard
his arms and hands outstretched
as if nailed to a cross
All he could utter
of his inconsolable grief was
“We’ll get’em next time”
But there is no next time
There is only today
and today a sort of death has crawled
up inside him to mock
all his worn-out platitudes
Like
“When the going gets tough
the tough get going”
“Tomorrow is another day”
and
“It ain’t over til the fat lady sings”

The appetite of time
is insatiable
It devours all
that was once mighty
and leaves
nothing but
the odor of decay

Sometimes I think
that dumping my vices
would in itself
create a crisis
Today the notion
to give it a try
leaves my leg hollow
and my throat dry
I find a glass of beer
to be blessed
and abstention
to be a great a test
of all that pious men
have written
about love of God
and religion
So, here’s to what
wins the day
and to hell
with what my conscience
has to say

I have no clothes
left to wear
They’re on the floor
because I left them there
They won’t get washed
lying on the floor
So, I guess I’ll stink
forever more

Why can’t my soul
quiet my mind?
They don’t seem
to be on the same page
One is in a place
I can’t seem to get to
the other
in a world of rage

The grandfather clock
in my grandmother’s house
stood silent in a corner all day
But, sometimes at night
it would grow in height
and I’d run before it had something to say

There are times that when I feel
mistreated by the world
I am reminded of just how unfair
the world can be
While observing the untold suffering of others and
my petition for happiness
seems nothing more
than an expression of ingratitude
in the form of a child’s temper tantrum