fuck the staring screen
burrow at my soul why don't you
writing ground to a halt, breathing
oxygen-like-desperation too close to
depression and meaningless pounding
the keys kack kick kack ti-- poems
are an escape from responsibility to the
words I've missed putting down (afraid
to put down) for really I fear they aren't in my soul,
heart, blank space stuffed with beer and memory
and dying and age and fetid fuck angels gawd
I'm pulling myself up each day later and later
I won't see the sun soon, waking at night
drowning at night, sleeping at night,
a muck ah man god beast whatever
stop listing oh iris-ed vomiting corpse, stop
listening for good so I can let it all go
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