I’m just a dreamer who’s been dreaming too long
a deadbeat Vegas crooner singing that same old song
The new desk is by the window where we can smoke. The window faces the Law Offices next door. Somehow their presence makes me feel ashamed. I don’t know these people but I’m ashamed of the way they can sit in their little lighted cubes, do shit and accomplish things. I stare at a screen and scream along with Warren Zevon drink after drink-whiling away my lifetime and they’re cranking away on some project or other for 8 hours a day.
Welcome to my madness. Come on in. These are the days on junkyard time. Long hours on the sinking throne. One million attempts, one million defeats. I never make the cut. When the lights go out next door I pull out from the desk and disengage. I toss another night out and waste it in throes of lust and inanity.
I’m a writer, a wall kisser, a cross builder and a cage welder. I’ve wasted my life pecking away at old bone keys. I spend the high, tight days staring at a computer screen. The night comes as no relief. There will be no relief. The mortal coil’s a ladder with burning cigarettes for rungs. I sullenly climb up and fall out into big, dumb sleep. There’s nothing left to do but wait for death and type another 800 words tomorrow.
Going for the Throat 