for all the answers you need
two thirty in the morning and
coltrane is wailing about some
lost love
the last drops of scotch are gone
the spanish princess awaits me
in my dreams
this is what happens when you make
it to the other side and realize hype
kills everything
the grass is greener but you don’t
want to know what is in those chemicals
wait twenty years and an oncologist
will gladly bill you for all the answers
you need
where all the superheroes are taking bribes
and every broken soul believes there
is a pole out there where they will
be a star
fifteen minutes have become
fifteen seconds
fading like a fart in the ocean
one of those nights where your head
won’t fit in the toaster
all the knives are dull
three hundred channels and still
nothing worth watching
crawl into bed and wait for the
quiet death that never comes
Horror Sleaze Trash 