pepto-bismol – now in caplets!
(or, unplanned three-day weekend)

my muse is sick and i need medicine
to cure the aches and pains and stomach
cramps of the world; pretend i’ve never
existed, pretend my mouth is closed
from 8 to 5 (only open after work hours),
pretend my head hasn’t been holding
my pen hostage for the past 3 days.

that’s life.

sitting in a bankrupt dumpster,
waiting for the crows who sing the shit
from your open garbage.

and all the books and albums
and dry food in the world won’t bring
my creativity back; just my body
being itself again, being a poem
with the perfect line breaks
and alliteration for all occasions.

then I look in my refrigerator
and lose all inspiration.

why do this? why do this?

because i am hungry
and the only way to satiate
the need is by looking through
the remnants of a broken weekend
spent holed up hibernating hiding
from an apathetic excuse for a human being –

and I can’t help but wonder if his
existence is what brought on my
stomach trouble in the first place.

A/N: Unfortunately a true story.