Monday, September 1, 2008

All Smiles

He's working hard at killing his liver
in dimly lit dives
frequented by girls
in tight black jeans,
bullets hanging round their waist.

He spills bull shit
lapped up
by twenty-somethings
emanating bullshit of their own,
it gives off a faint glow,
it's how those tanks are lit.

Smokes in alleys
walks down dirty sidewalks
laughs when he's supposed to
knows the right people
orders the right drinks,
he's vaguely liked by most.

His disease is buried
like a cicada,
comes out
once in coon's age.
When it does
it makes a big noise.

On the side of the road
a dead coyote

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