BEATNIK: A Poetry Collection

what a sunday

I don't know

what to write

about today.

I told the man

my aunt had died

to get out of

eight hours spent

behind an

emotionless desk.

after that a

ran to the

store and

bought a

sandwich with

no cheese

because I fear

the hardening

of my arteries.

now I lie between

the choices of

drinking heavily,

masturbating, or

both in the vacant

house that's been

left to me for the

day.

even in all this

silence, I cannot

seem to find peace

as the endless

possibilities keep

me from taking any

real action.

perhaps I am my

own worst problem.