Monday:
the war between the local gangs
emerges as a victory on both sides.
No one was seriously hurt over
the previous weekend.
Blood can be artful
with its patterns on the ground
a war paint,
alarming that people bleed.
I wonder if anyone bleeds
with their wound out like a soul,
but it is a terrible image
to be young and opened up…
horrid reality Monday news
Tuesday:
I wonder what…then fall back into sleep…
My nighttimes can last for years
The mirror looks at me,
I never look back.
fall asleep again,
the leaves are crying
in the wind
outside my window.
I need more money
I need more than money
I need nighttime
and sleep.
Wednesday:
Grocery shopping list day,
almost a biblical tract
at least, with as much worth:
We all must eat to live
Food the petrol of action!
I make supper for me and
the stray cat that haunts
which makes no noise ever
unless it cries
Thursday:
shit, my world ends,
I’ve forgotten:
I had no idea
the rent was due…
who cares
about these practicalities?
Reality does…I should…
my landlord will…
I tidy up for the land lord
and beg for mercy
and he is compassionate
until tomorrow…
Friday:
Ah, the weekend,
I’m drunk by early rise…
what is the purpose behind
curtains, i wonder, as the sun peers in
drunk all day
deliously drunk
forgot the land lord existed
and he forgot about me…
a lady never arrives at my door
I make little sense on my own.
lost in a bed room
can’t spell decadence often
Saturday:
pick my self up from the street;
I must have gone out lastnight!
this must have been
the beginning of something
because i got up and moved along
to home or hell
or the nearest watering whole…