I'm in Pinte
and I am surrounded
by **** suckers  

I don't think they have
even begun to grasp
the meaning of dignity

I'm sure they walked here
down a road of derision
and cried a little inside

But in an air of comfort
they become arrogant
their flamboyance disdainful

But I suppose that this means
they are still human,
all too human.

I smoke this cigarette
in hopes of a ruined lung

I drink this beer
for the prize of bad liver

I think these thoughts
for justification of my actions.

Coca cola heart attack
and whiskey blues
beer lines my throat
and I smoke in the dark
with nothing but the light
slowly stroking my face
a soft orange haze
filtered by the heavy smog
which dances around my eyes.

And it clicks
much like a phantom
and sizzles through
as it fills the air
with a warm grace
smothering life

Not a moment sleeps
when our motion wakes
and perpetuates a new arising

The greatest races ever run
are those without a finish
and the hares become confused
to which it becomes obvious
of why the hero was the tortoise

An anti-hero now
when a Casio watch
measures nano-seconds

The western world is exhausted
and the road stretches
past the horizon
and the East have been running long
for over 4,000 years
and they don't even need an inhaler.

So who is laughing now?
Well the answer is quite clear;
whoever found it funny.

And everything
comes to a point
where the smoke dissipates
into the ***** air
and we are left
with nothing
but the wild desire
to start another fire.