glass onion

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