he's down for the count
face marred by age
or misery(though no difference)
he sits alone at the bar
alone
for now,
he remembers -
find a 50 dollar ***** tonight.

worth 50? Hell,
he'll give you a hundred
(call it compensation - emotional distress)
because money is dirt
that **** means nothing

life is poverty
when madness is wasted.

"Christ," she said
"you're useless," she said,
"I'm old," he snarls,
"we're all ruined."
he chugs and chugs
to burn and burn
all great men rage.

he crawls to his death bed

and dreams a beautiful dream that God,
or someone,
would save him.