I am the king

of nearly all that you possess.

It’s ever and it’s ugly

and very often always a mess.

Sifting through the tasty,

that’s me,

disguising guns as flowers

and hollow dreams as property.

Or was it poverty,

something belched unto god with a bellows?

It’s hard to say,

time shifts and time mellows.

And I am asleep now at this table,

typing gibberish,

recalling my waking life in hearses,

smacking myself far away from, and into, the cradle.

Drill a joyful noise into, or unto,

the lord of cherry rubbish snacks,

a grave disappointment to

my cliché skull and its liquid heart attacks.

They’re all normal.

I sit here and take ‘em,

take them for all that I’m worth.

I’m not cuddly in that regard.

I work too little and

I work too hard.

(Pictures taken in this bar in Sanya, Minami-senju, Tokyo in April, 2012)