(on brown paper bag)

-
erasing new numbers everyday.
sighing like a child, sleeping in your own bed again, today.
rushing against lost days, clinging around the table, to family
--Scatterbrain, so sweet, like a hooker swept off her feet: It must be sincerity.
Coming home the next day, with that all-consuming
--m o n o t o n e--
grasping for air, choking on words, to muster up some of that sincerity-
As empty as the air I breathe.

Something extra reviving you, above all your friends,
on that sprint of serenity--
“I must be getting highest, off the air we breathe.”
Spoke too soon…
(or it couldn't have come soon enough)

Too heavy a weariness to stand--see out the day--
I curse my friends for being content,
dull for sitting around, living moderately -
Then drive around for hours, try to force a standstill.