I was poor as a piss bucket,
and my brain was a gathering
of bedbugs smoking opium, and
talking about man\'s search for
meaning.
Sobriety was a fantasy back then,
an impossibility, like hula-hooping
with the rings of Saturn.
Starving in Pennsylvania.
Bats roosted in my heart,
and I don\'t know to this
day how I survived.
I was sold as a puppet to
Babylon.
Outside my window
vicious dogs bit at the cat\'s
throats, and cops killed
us all.
And now, every exhale is
a prayer.
Thank you, Father.
The water is fine, and
women and wine aren\'t
idols anymore.