well,
here it is
I'm drunk,
Shitgriningly
Drunk on 40 oz
Beers and reading
Byron

don't make art
don't even take
that first sip of
ephemeral joy
because no one
wants it
NO ONE WANTS IT
and you know that but
never really know
until you try to sell
your soul and there
is no buyer
NO ONE WANTS IT
repeat that until you
can accept it and stream
consciousness for
no one but yourself

beer beer
beer! its always
about alcohol
with you!
ahh yes but
on occasion I
also write

The fire
Drank my beer
As I slept
In the embers

I often ponder madness,
Like something deserved
I wait for Insane
And the gratification
Of sheer madness
When you see them,
Hear them
You know who you are
You know what they are
You know for certain it's happened
You know nothing for sure
Only that you want assurance
And the want keeps complacency at bay
Keeps you guessing
Keeps you hoping
I often ponder madness
When walking back-straight
Upright and taught to the counter
Of the unemployment office

Ghoulish ghoulish ghoulish!
I don't recognize
These days
I don't want to,
My brain bleeds
That heavenly sounding
Touch of god
That taste of the divine
That "ohh yeah,"
Good good good!
Feel it man!
It's in there deep
Like some sort of
Code-written karma,
But it's bleedin' out
And fast

On the walk home
Through the park
The one that
Used to have birds
I saw an ad
And another
And two more
The last one selling advice
About buying insurance
Which made Whitman cry rain
Into my beer,

   *When the unnecessary
    Becomes convenient,
    Less than nothing
    Has been accomplished