Like a dorm room on
four wheels, it’s a place to get
drunk stoned laid changed sleep.
Junker
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Like a dorm room on
four wheels, it’s a place to get
drunk stoned laid changed sleep.
Domestic mountains
rimmed with grime, sponge scaling this
Everest of suds.
Ate bad stuff. Gained weight.
Hate myself. Still, I think, There’s
always tomorrow…
I quit my job to
work on my haiku blog. Chance
of millions, slim / none.
Wisdom’s spark. Fortune
cookie poetry message
ignites hope change growth.
Carbs like clouds. When gone
clarity returns. Blue sky
thinking open mind.
One bite then the mad-
ness begins. Binge-stuffing my
face. Swallowing whole.
Olive pits. Glass shards.
Bent straw. He warns, It’s not a
garbage disposal…
Vague tomorrow is
malleable until tempered
by the here and now.
Drops by at four, raids
the fridge, toasts unhappy hour
to his firing squad.