the whole thing is over,
bastards, I've been
banging the walls for 3 days and 4 nights.
chained in the corner of the room
in my own
hardened jism.
I can't get out to pay the rent
or buy a paper.
somebody drunk upstairs
has been playing the
piano for hours --
all the songs I hate,
and the phone rings again,
and I wonder what the people are doing in
China in East
St. Louis.
then I don't wonder
don't care.

think of all the pigeons run over
today.
there's nothing as undramatically run over
as a pigeon,
and the ladies' dresses get shorter
but the ladies still don't care for
me, and
then the guy playing the piano upstairs sings,

"oh, the ladies' dresses get shorter
but the ladies still don't care for
me!"

I finally just unlace my shoes and
step out of them.
then I go over and put a bit of Brahms on the
record player.

I guess everybody goes crazy now and then
but he never really tells anybody
else.

I drink 2 glasses of water
pull all the shades down and
chase a roach across the
room.

© Frank Silvanski