there is always going to be
more mail.
it comes with each day,
with bills and dates and deadlines,
and eventually becomes piles of trash
in this apartment.

I eat crackers and get bits of it in my
what I need now is a drink – maybe vodka –
something to wash it all

today is like any other day: the mail stares at me.
and there are banks
and people
who want my money.

God, this life –
it burns my soul.
and I wonder about the past,
about music,
about old girlfriends
and about spirituality.

outside these walls
a city is burning somewhere…
a person is killing his or her brother…
a woman is getting raped…
and a child is getting aborted…

I don’t want to sound pessimistic,
but jeeesus… what is it going to take to change all this?
I mean,
I’m getting drowned in all this mail
and I can barely cope with this madness.

I take another drink… I set the ceiling fan to low…
the light bulbs burn with bug decay…
the summer heat swells against the windows…
and I wonder…

what can a man do?

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