The Life Of The Poet Is A Fun Filled Carnivale

7 O-clock
Watched neighbors
Got all existential and anxtsy
made coffee
Had a flashback
They're getting shorter
This one was yesterday
7 O-clock

You know you have those dreams and you're in deep shit
you've committed murder and everyone hates you or your legs
fallen off and your trapped on a cliff ledge or your cars totaled
all your possessions burst into flame and the entire cast of Bonanza,
stand, point and laugh hysterically at your naked genitalia.
I wake from bad dreams feeling only slightly relieved,
that sweaty palmed anxiety followed by mild apprehension.
Rituals quantify chaos
And a career in Street Theatre.