poems can no longer help. i am sad, i am sad. on and on. it is as sure as day light. as sure as the noon’s missile, which will detonate at max velocity upon night’s pavement. as the local 6 will make him late for work. as the rats will scavenge new york city for chocolate and unsalted tuna. as the lucky ones will remain lucky and the rest will retreat into dismal peril. as the girl alone at the bar will never find the one. i am destined not for greatness, but for emptiness. for warm rooms without windows. for congested cabs without drivers. for unmediated divorces. nameless run over animals on 5th avenue. nothing more than a shell submerged in murky estuaries. contoured as broken shins passed through glass upon fatal impact.

ill foot the bill tonight. it’s been awhile since i’ve amounted to anything.