The burning embers of a cigarette

Is the closest I get to a barbeque

My parched, impoverished palette

Takes a commodious Catholic view


I’m looking for a smoke at Four A.M.

Insomnia is my only friend

There is no plausible stratagem

To avert inexorable, ugly end


I hate the restraint of my middle age

The dithering wrought by life’s censures

I want to reignite my rage

Belting violence and its pleasures


I want to burn my whole life down

My house, the city’s imprisoning streets

My life, alone, bereft of renown

The bourgeoisie and their cutting conceits


DavidGottfried, Copyright, 2004



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