The cats go nuts in my room
and the most disgusting thing
is Maggie tracks mud
to my computer and back.
“A little massage in my phone is a
stunning work of sentenceography.”
I say this as I spill sugar
all over myself and my journal.
I hope I got some in the coffee.
When I woke up I thought of an
ulterior motive, gawked at who
was sitting at the window with a
Fonzie look, and then I imagined
I could be doing it in a big way.
Have you noticed that I don’t
write when I’m drunk anymore?
I have such a bad taste in my mouth
from last year.
If I die right now,
I guess I’d have to be
buried in Arkansas.
But I’d rather they just
scattered me on the street all burnt up here.
