The shower delivers
Hot water cascades like chance encounters, running rivulets of conversation
With stranger at a laundry mat where we chat and borrow quarters
And you play pinball while I wonder when the spin dries up
Am I the gutter, nowhere? Or do I yet yearn for broken teeth.
Don’t take shit for granted
Blood and guts, stains and mud
You regret what you want
When the days pass like panic
Make your lovely absurd
The soda machines on the wall are lights out but for a choice few
That no one wants to drink
This is the golden age of surviving despite the times we are forced to
Endure leaning on waiting room benches, spectating uncomfortably facing up against
A wall of rumbling machines
The first cup of coffee of the day makes me feel like
I am in the earth, the taste of ground or dark rich churning there is an underneath
To these procedures
It makes me curious to see
It seems delirious to be
The mess and the dirt and the struggle is such
That there’s a power in sticking your nose in a rut
But the disinfectant sun shining in these winter long days
Makes the heart bold to darkness
And today – another load of bullshit – it’ll come out in the wash
To grind a stone against a current, so smoothlike, criminal, entropical paradise
But I have the germination of a seed
And not nearly the nurturing soil that I need
Sheets to the wind, this imagination breaks when it goes clean
The Haunted Typewriter 