he drank until it was safe
to mouth insults at others
it made him feel better
about being mad at himself

Friday night and what to do
he can have any girl to *****
but his feet long for something new
beyond the old bip bam boo

alone at the table
waiting to be served
wearing a frown
still waiting
frown grows larger and larger
until a cookbook drops on my head
and out of my hat jumps a rabbit
and he does the tango with a chicken
who is running in circles screaming
the sky is falling
and I open the cookbook
and it is written in a foreign language
and I am sitting at the table waiting to be served
I am wearing a frown
a big, big frown

I watched the sun set
over a Maxwell Parish sky
I sat alone
isolated by my own genius

and the day washes over me
and my retina is strained
and the dog has broke his leash
and he is talking to me in French
and the day washes over me
and everywhere I go
it turns a few degrees colder
and the colors deepen into themselves
and the day washes over me
and the man with the apron paces below
six rows of track lighting
and the day washes over me
and I think of Billy

I don't believe
I don't believe in sandwiches, or ******* jacks
or call me backs
I don't believe in rusted vines, fireplaces
or ancient wines
I don't believe in a pleasant girdle, the hula hoop
or attempted hurdle
I don't believe in the things that sing, or things that bleed
or anything.
I don't believe in candlesticks
or the light I've lit.

boredom is the moment
you start noticing
how your tongue
lays against your teeth
and the weight of the tongue
becomes heavy, akward, and
most uncomfortable.