i'm old i'm fat and i'm tired
death is waiting at the corner


answer the door baby
its younger men than me
more than eager to take my place


it's daffy duck
hanging on a cross


& this as good a place
as any to be and make a mess


always being on and perceived as threatening
i wouldn't be caught dead holding those bags


all those conversations to go
& throwing out the styrofoam


magnifying glasses to dead grasses &
dry bones at the bottom
of the bottle


everything fought so hard for
and won


and then, not so much


accumulations


small weatherings
here and there


a ceiling leak
an attic full of trash
left to the kids


it is not to be taken lightly
in the abstract
it is tangible


a tendency toward heartburns
& palpitations


who will run around the parapets of my alamo
while the general sleeps one off
in the barracks?


there's a storm brewing
a real heroin cloud


a sexy golem
covering her bare breasts
with her hands
and screaming


tonight i'm googling
"what's wrong with robin williams"


bungling directions
to a market for this shit


hot trash glowing on the floor


red lights are not a lifestyle


nothing but red lights for fifty miles