In our post-summer slump the order
of the day is to dump bottles of beer into our
stomachs and set weeds on fire in our mouths.

Our skins, limp on what used to be tight coat
hanger frames, flutter weakly in the cold wind from
the broken driver's seat window. Shrugging off
heavy clouds of unwanted responsibility,
we're taping comic books to our eyes,
enduring strange sicknesses,
and even stranger music choices.