I had a cranium full of
graves
that I didn't maintain very well
sometimes I'd water them with wine
and
imported beer,
sit back
and watch the weeds
grow
wild and out of control

Now I slice lemon and
drop it into my water
spoon honey into my tea,
and my ****** hair is a matchstick
past my chin
I no longer stow the flames
or conserve the coals
or bleed from my orifices  

I go to and from my overwhelmingly-underwhelming job
staring at the cracks
in the asphalt that cancer and
split
forming little rivers for the rain-
water
to flow and congregate at the curb