and i wish
(every morning)
that it will
become easier.

lips are smokey and nicotined
-up for a night in the dishpit.
the moon leases it's image
for a minute an hour before
stating the lease will expire
sometime between 2040
and 2101. if I'm lucky, I'll be
happy in longevity, or happy
in a 50 yr span which is as
fine as the former. either way
there is a sense of leaking
facets on a Sunday night, a
Ritalin-induced euphoria kept
alive on a caffeine spike. the
bus is always late these days,
which means I am often late
these days, late as daylight,
late as life in fact and as early
as fiction to the evening ball
of predicated tech-gurus riding
hybrid Toyota's in Silicon Valley.
high on a drug called birth and
ingesting like an addict 3 to 5
times a day, I stave off the
ultimate crash.

but eventually, the drug will
**** me.

*it always does.