too often

As he stood at the toilet he gripped his pants with a surgeons hand, steady and slow yet firm. He slowly tugged at the brass button of his chinos. The painting over the toilet was of a house, emerald and lethargic in his memories as he turned his head to the left wall. There he saw a mosquito hawk, splayed out with a certain savage beauty flapping its wings hysterically. Yet the thing didn’t fly away, the iridescent wings gave off a sirens hum, sweet to the ear. Time stopping if anything, the sound flowed to his ears to sooth his troubled mind. His right hand still gripped the brass button; there was no zipper on his chinos, merely four-brass button in a straight line. He contemplated the buttons; the blasé painting, the insect thriving on the eggshell wall to his left. Perhaps the humble crane fly was offering a challenge to him. It seemed that way at times, why not an insect if anything? Perhaps this insect was sent to challenge his worldly life or perhaps it was the spirit of a dead relative. He listened for the insect once more, but instead heard the rhythm of his own breathing. He decided what he had to do, and this was not that. So he left.

san bernardino police department

i'm drunk right now and i got pulled over about 20 minutes ago. what happened? either i talked my way out of a d.u.i. possibly or he just didn't care enough to lock me up. i'm honestly surprised i'm writing this though, i reek like cheap merlot and pinot noir, marlboro 27's and coffee. my hair is greasy, unruly and disgusting. i lack sleep, hence my eyes are bloodshot. i have bags developing under my pupils. maybe  it was the new car or the anglo look. either way i cheated the justice system immensely right now. i thought that i would be caught as the scofflaw who run all those stop-signs in a drunken stupor. instead i was sent away as michael, late for work at 4 in the ay-em.

bronze

i'm on two hours of sleep, i feel like my body is being slowly dragged toward an abysmal pit by some sort of anchoring device. my meaningless steps are going in no direction. i stood at work and watches the bags under my eyes expand slowly, consuming my face, then body. they overtook my being. perhaps i've had too little and too much in the perfect combination this time around. perhaps i just need sleep. sweet, wondrous slumber in my broken bed. perhaps an albatross is hanging around my neck. or conscious.