swaying drunkenly
arms across shoulders
a pantomime of fun
like an early nineties
teen angst drama
everyone waiting
for Jordan Catalano
singing the words of a song
written by a junk man
everyone waiting
for this guy to die
so they can touch a bit
of the local papers
that will soon be tossed away
stacking up shards of identity
song lyrics
clothing scraps
carefully scripted photographs
building up a toppling tower
of digital nothing
some of us still get up
and go to work in the morning
scrape thick frost
off the windshield
and trudge along
while they still sneak
into mama's purse
steal a twenty
old enough to know better
the last love interest
was an empty hole
filled with pills
pizza
pop
smoke
sugar
and sometimes booze
covered with a thick layer of jokes
like jungle leaves over a trap
I was an empty hole
sucking in whatever was around
but then realized
there is no end to this sucking
and stopped cold
now I try to fill
the dark space with light
and warmth
and sound
so far it's working
even in the dead of winter
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