and ... a haibun sequence

the goat is shaved smoking 'neath the blue moon

it's the kind of life when you put your leather jacket on as the second thing the first is searching through the ashtrays for a dog-end you can light without burning your nose

an umbrella of jelly-fish the heavens stay in place

and you get a call from an animal welfare organization wanting your money under the - faulty - pretext that you like animals pets and such and want your sausages to have had a good life before they become part of the food industry

your cobweb heart someone didn't tell you

and you finally get up and find some real fags and while the kettle boils you check the table for dead insects they choose to end their lives in the night leaving you to pick up the pieces and you wonder why they are so hard to love unlike cats and dogs and hamsters and

unsafe floor a fleeting god escapes the rain

and despite your efforts objects never stay in place not the ones you need to and not in the places you put them and pouring water on the ground coffee a voice on tv talks about the rain you see out the window

autumn a million beetles digging canals under your skin

you can still blow smoke rings even though the missing moles make them a bit more floppy not as firm as your exhaled smoke used to be a coffee ring on the book you've given up on

through the tear duct your innermost worm is passed on

and you have this la-la insight that you don't have to kill yourself life will do it for you boredom suffocating on emptiness nailed to the floor by bad decisions you name it and a little bird bumps against your window with a thumb and you have cigarettes and coffee and what more my soul