he’s got
these women
he weaves
in and out
like
shift work.

never
touching,
always
brushing forces
Uncommunicably;

filling
the gaps
his
miserable
lonliness
awake
he can’t
bare
to face.

son of god,
trapped
on that
fabricated
temple
of entertainment,

never wanting
to be
bothered
on
your time.

says
it’s easier
to
fall asleep
with a
body
nearby,

be it
special
or
unimpressive.

spits out
promises
never
fulfilled

More than
A distributor
does product.

doesn’t ever
fold up
pages
or
face
a mess,

except
the bottles

someone
else

must’ve left
strewn

on
every
surface.

he’s
in control
afterall,

natural born
cult leader,
with pride.

no need for
the
big
picture

with his
knackful
perception,

despite a
blindness

to his own
presentation.

“subconscious
leaking
out
their nose,”

somebody get this man a medal!

full of
compazine
and lexapro

would you
please?

keep talking
with a
tactfully forged
confidence
and you’re
always right,

 
otherwise
anyone else
could get a
second
opinion.

—