A Prayer, Barely

07 Jan


A Prayer, Barely


Curled up in bed with a woman

Curled up in bed with a bottle

Rarely curled up in bed with a book


like milk in a poor kid’s stomach

breaking the beating coming up

This life sure is rough

A bitch with money on her mind


with too much stock in fevered dreams

But I don’t sleep

I don’t vanish

instead I wander

like a nomad with eyes of Benzedrine

a nightmare on my shoulders

a nightingale in my breast

to remind me of Keats and his commitment

memorized, but impotent

my lucent bonhomie has hardened

turned to a gravestone for a heart

by love and interaction

and the death of friends

I’m getting fearful

knowing my own time might be drawing near

but it’s hard to leave this spoon unknown

longing for Big Sur like heaven

covered in whiskey and past mistakes


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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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