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

As it was
in the beginning
So, it is now
One can’t know
happiness
Unless, one learns how
to shed the last tear of the just
forever holding peace
thereafter

Tired are the eyes
that rest upon the sleep-deprived face
It comes to the mirror each morning
It keeps things from the curious companion
who leans against the bathroom sink
Waiting for some truth to break the unwashed silence