What would John Lee Hooker do?
I woke up with a strange pair of eyes in my face. Big wet round rings of amber, and a fuzzy black honker.
She's lookin to score, pinin and whinin at the back door.
The screen door she kicked out
the metal door she scratched up that we had put in to replace the one the thieves kicked in
this time 2 years ago.
Two fuckin years...
Unfuckin-believable.
I've activated my shirtless powers this afternoon.
A stalk of celery in my teeth, spit pooling in my mouth, like its a promise of something tastey, or at least something better than a 0 calorie net.
I'm pretty sure today is going to be alright
despite the nightmares and ghosts of yesterday
but I'm a fool for bein pretty sure
I'm a fool for hoping.
There's always that linger.
That moan.
That big long itch
starts in my belly
switches to a dance in my pants
and a twitch in my hand.
With a profound chunk- I bit through the celery.
It's been a god damn year since I stuffed a juicey bird.
I'm a writer with no readers.
A god with no believers.
A field with no seeds.
I got no cool, long, fast fuck to keep me comin home.
I got no roots, no plans, no keys to the drive.
Just a mad man at the wheel, in the worst storm you've seen
tossed like a ship in a mad sea
a duckie in a child's bath
an artist forced to play drone.
Circumstance babe.
All just circumstance.
With a creaking shoulder, and the dull satisfaction of munching greens, I watch my dog run laps around my yard
in that serene, oblivious mode of hers.
Lucky bitch.
I'll be stuck in cubicle hell, god knows how many months, how many years
This aint the life for me.
To be honest, I dunno what life is.
I just know it shouldn't be this lonely.
This greyscale.
There should be a slide guitar and a cricket box
chronicling the epic of my love, my art, and my triumph
or
at least
a burning page marking my punishment
for a world that has rejected me once too many.
Yeah
that'd work
but I'm gettin paid and fucked first.
