I lead a man's life, mostly
spend free time smoking pot
spitting sophomore existentialism in church parking lots
I'll use coffee to wash down the melatonin
then read Bukowski when I can't fall asleep
Old man says he laughed watching his bones crack under love's weight
but I can so much as muster a groan,
I wake up alone
since I lost my lust to a love that howls as it comes
tearing through the hole where my heart should be
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A few nights ago, Sean, Jake and I
drove out to Butterfly Beach and stared at the ocean/mist gradient
marveling how one didn't have to end for the other to begin
We stood there a good 20 minutes
until darker clouds rolled in and rain began falling fat and heavy on our heads
Then, the homeless started their midnight sand shuffle
and I tasted death's metallic prick on my tongue watching them.
Got sensible, though,
pushing wind down the 101 at ninety-five,
rationalizing that everyone has to die sometime
and
even the best of memories will waver then fade
like a vagrant in the fog
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