it's too ******* hot
in this tavern
& I'm the designated
poet laureate
that had no time to
adequately pregame

there are too
many angels in this
devil sky today
it's like beckoning
a barter
for just a *******
breath

I can hear Satan's
laughter over
Eric Clapton
but it no longer
shakes my
soul
I've seen inside that one
& I know better
yet I remain none
the wiser

the tiny staple
placed upon
the geyser
& this hell on earth
knows just where
the blood will
likely flow
unto the depths of
these rock-laden
pearls
& all of
what we were granted
to be gifted

& *******
*******
fuuuuuck you
for being so chauvinistically
nonchalant
I am your forgotten
paid for shot
of Tuaca
your half-smoked
cigarette
on the edge of the
patio table

I am hell
in suburban purest
form