30 June 2012



High as a kite

Lower than a dirty dog

Fast as light

Slower than a methadone jockey

Clean as a whistle

And common as muck

My sticky shirt

Has outworn its usefulness

I’m tight as a drum

As loose as a clown’s pocket

I don’t belong in civilized circles

If I don’t sleep soon

I’ll slip into a coma

And crack my head open

On cold bathroom tile

Hard as stone

White as a junkie

My brain will spill open

That’ll be funny

My random thoughts

Will all take flight

The fastest

The fittest

And the also rans

Will empty out

And leave me vacant


1 comment:

  1. Ovations. Every time I read it, it feel like a knife going in. That's poetry, if you ask me