5/26/19 1123PM
the prevailing smell
is stale smoke and sidewinder molt
each day it seems like i shed
fluctuating happy or angry
it’s all of me
drinking firewater and hoping
i go blind before i see my sordid
prophecies come true
those spent alone in a burned out
hut, perched on a rooftop
you, the reader
i am no longer in isolation
surrounded by faces of delirious snark
i create my own now
and you benefit
i guess
traditional rush of rust, my wasteland internals shine
proudly with axle grease
the sun came up today and i had to move
the year so far is such sweet climate change
that it feels like a horrible dream
and i am back, again, for my times of slouching
across sun baked parking lots
let me be reborn
as one with the weeds
reaching daintily
as i crowd out blatantly
the good crops i can reach