over, alone and I don't know
when to eat, when to sleep, when or where
to have sex or is it make love,
barely stength to hold the cigarette
or pull keno tickets from pocket,
suicidal, imagined opening my bio page
and entering date deceased, dreamt
I was editing my storage locker page
and saying I was sorry for sleeping all
day, waking with Harold slightly fucking
me protesting and moaning, "fuck fuck"
this is not a command and
sleeping all day then and I don't
know how to stop when I drink no
one to come home to or with
no stength even enough to dream
any more, bored out of my own yes
mind I haven't repeated the word
yet alone I suppose everyone is is
like how death is everyone's lover
and today I need a lover like
nobody's business, not my journal
and not in a poem can I scream
with the ache of it, a suicidal
plunge into is that why I am single
because suicidal and that's why
no one has joined me is what makes
me suicidal damn it and even so
I am not it's just that alone
is so old and I don't know when
to throw in a cliche or the towel
or masturbate dreamt masturbation as
a program, hit the button and don't
have to do anything else, you're
masturbating now I want to or
walk to where we don't do anything
besides sex and would have to shower
before that, it's not raining nicely
and looks like a great day I slept
away and don't have the energy to
shower or masturbate or hold a next
cigarette or pipe now I wonder if
tonight I'll sleep so as to work to-
morrow another day alone no closer
to love but to death I hate today
alone like every other for twenty
years day of today is the last I
take alone no more strength to
eat or know when to fix the cd player
broke a few days ago and bills to
pay, no strength to balance the
appointments to make and the cycle
has wound down, ground down or grounded?
down to this miserable, mangy fur
of a mood hanging on me like a
costume or aura and I don't want it
any more but don't shake it and
three times in the past week or so
I've gone over twenty four hours with-
out eating and don't know when to
stop this writing or stop breathing
what got all this started I was
alone set apart so far distanced from
others no more a part of the pack
or the clan and I never meant to
get so far away, no one's ever
kept me back, kept me in, held
me there, that way, today, a man's
buttocks to savor with teeth and
tongue, to say I like being alive
here with you, you make me worth-
while and I'm dreaming again because
no one is here to say that to
no one to eat with and know when to
make love is as basic as breathing
and everybody knows I'm not getting any
regularly (yet of course I am) and
I know that they are and it kills
me, it empties my guts, it chews me
up and spits me out and still isn't
done with me, stomps on me, starts
all over and does it again the
next day, today, one of the hung-
over and suicidal ones tired
stale cigarette of a day too
bleak to put in a journal, too
alone to take another step.