Gradations on a Fake Wooden Table

Nothing matters less than I guess right now
I do
I don't
I won't care if you never talk to me again
I dare you to
I lied, I care
I will always care
Overshare
I know
I don't

Simple Man of Modest Means

Simple man of modest means 

Rolls up his shirt sleeves

Dreams of counter culture, scrolling the job listings 

Leans back for the vultures, rolling tongue, teeth glistening

Who’s listening? 

There’s a scratch in the glass in front of his left eye 

And a note he’s rubbed raw in a frayed denim pocket

There’s two sides to every coin he’s stretched 

And more than I’ll ever know of love, he’s already forgotten

Simple man of modest means 

A stack of paperbacks in the back seat 

Sleeps in parking lots, plays guitar in parks at dawn

Keeps a growing list of thoughts he can no longer rely on

Brain or brawn

There’s a hole in the wall just big enough to see through

And a resume with aging names and numbers

There’s a new scar or two on his wrist since he last slept

And some songs on his chapped lips that itch for words 

Simple man of modest means

The winters smell like gasoline 

Summers gleam sweat stains and grinding teeth

Nothing seems the same since ends won’t meet 

More bitter than sweet