amphibi.us

back home comatose
after all day babbling
past three nights
spit beer cans obscenities dry
dawn, end of the day the month
the year;

they trample one another
in the streets it’s all vain
all knowing all infinite and
between window panes my
face sleepless, heavy-featured
cinderblock eyes crack the light
and sound, staring back.  

agoraphobic in department
stores, lines out the door;
“you look awful last night was great”
I can’t process so just sit and
think the fiction dept. is a close-knit
tangle of professional liars with
hidden agendas while the poets
brood over god awful dandelions
that don’t say a damn thing
in public parks and biographers
bury themselves vicariously,
slaves to the old bastard scribes,

but at any rate and for what,
I’m doing it again, not writing
but sitting slumped in a holiday
shop beating the exhausted topics,
rented mules, bleached sand bones,
everybody’s spit flying at everybody,
ain’t no way I’m goin’ downtown
this time ’o day no sir…

I look awful last night was great
the mass goes galloping by…

© Austen Roye, 2012

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