by Zachary Warble
we deadbeats
have stripped all our toenails down
to a normal size w/ our thumbnails
& chewed those off after
all while hammering out your
problems in our minds & wanting you
reading us thoreau from another room
w/ a soft audible voice
that sounds like
you’re trying to speak thru
lips against your favorite parts
& a bombing raid.
we deadbeats
have perfected the lie of
‘having heart’
in a time where that is the best
one can do &
still say honest things or
even get out of the shower
w/ the added weight of steam.
we deadbeats
honestly think
that having a good woman obsess
over our lousy modicum of talent
could drag us out
& make life more splendid than
anyone else could ever have it.
we deadbeats
work up letters
to frenzy in our heads all day
anguish abt rape in pakistan
think we have it good
then
think we have it bad
grit over the disappearance of milkmen
in america
have the mental training of a
thirdrate monk
like pea soup in morningtime
mastered sex inside our heads
five years ago
realize that a hundred bursts
of inspiration
can accomplish more than a lifetime
of hard work
piss ten times an hour for lack of
anything better to do than sit
think
read
or write.
we deadbeats
were built to drag our feet on your
perfect beaches
get down low headaches in your houses
& burn our brains out from ideas
alone
just to build you up w/ that smokedout
wonder of the word.
we deadbeats
know how to turn it out &
pack it in &
sell you beautiful
from the bottom rung of the ladder.
Blue Granite Review 