The Daily Rut

I fell in love with the
pins & needles of
my daily rot.
Going back and forth into
and out of the same restaurants,
coffee shops,
porn shops.
A never ending boredom.
A frigid dejection of the every day.

Loneliness grows on me
Like a rash on a whore.
Absolute separation from reality,
from this sad, dead generation.

Drinking with the desolate
lit up my eyelids,
the drunks of the streets—
they never grew up,
only having aged outward.

Sun stirred,
disappearing behind smiles
stained with whiskey.
I head to the troff in the back stall,
staring glimpses into sunken eyes
of disheveled & worn
PhD’s and M.I.T’s
high on meth in the bathroom.

I used to befriend their kids.

Noticing scars upon their flesh,
the palms of my lashes rise.

To catch each tear.

Published in Having a Whiskey With You Issue 10, April ’12


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