this hunger is insatiable, this ride is endless.

 

every day is a clusterfuck

through jogging beards

and mustachioed smears;

every day is a misadventure

if you want it to.

 

pull out at the last minute and hope for the best-

by god goodbye.

how did you do that?

how do you do?

what’s in your mousetrap?

what’s in this stew?

it’s just a trick of the eye.

 

your neck is bent downward:

your back is hunched:

you look like a question mark

that’s been well punched.

stop, slow, speed up, skid

who’s the daddy and who’s the kid?

question mark, question mark

what have you  done?

Just a well dressed hick

with a dirty stick

and a burden of guilt

that weighs a ton.