BEATNIK: A Poetry Collection

questions, questions

I sat there, scooping

every last fry out of

the box, like a crack

whore burning for more.

what is this thing

that keeps us hungry

when we are full?

what is this desire

to consume poison in

the hope that it might

make us feel better

for a little while?

why do we do this

to ourselves?

I've tasted

the tobacco,

swallowed the

fermented fruits,

and digested the

greasy shit.

now I suppose

the only question

left to ask is

when it will start

to catch up with

me.

and when it does,

will I, or we, even

be able to stop?