Am Angry

am angry.

once again the wind too cold to argue with.

it seems what cannot move I cannot drink.

I stink of cigarettes and gasoline.

I have no desire to love

the very things I cannot see.

I have puked one thousand daffodils

but still she lays there quiet as a rose.

this is death personified.

I am a sparrow in a hornets nest

juggling laughter with the blue veins of the moon.

too soon to die? perhaps

but who am I to argue with

a prostitute on a slate bed roof

giving head to a thousand seagulls

as I write my will on a cloud of jealousy,

as I write an ode to a suicidal man

with a long grey beard with a taste of leprosy.

am drunk.

once again the fluid flows

too cold to argue with.

naked and exposed

but still she lays there quiet as a rose.

so it has come to this

drinking piss from the fountain

where the great god's came and gathered for a feast.

now 40 days beneath the grass

still I know as little as you do.

the lord will be my shepherd that has found me.

what you were will never be again.

I am close to death

and I really do not care;