HORSEHIDE
SPHINCTER HAIR
Sometimes I just wonder why I can't get
anywhere; why I do all this stuff for nothing
and nobody really seems to care. No accolades
or contracts or renown or satisfaction. I want
to shoot myself in the mouth with a gun, just
from the sense of failure I wear. Inequity.
The dispute of these ages. I'll be dead when
I'm dead; I'll be famous instead. That's really
what some idiot told me once. Now I just found
out that school is out, and my terrain is leveled,
the classroom is gone where they mention my
name, and this ancient geography has taken over :
Phoenecians, and all that crap; merchants and
drovers, faith-healers and those who believe.
Shit I want to scream, and face-fuck
this tidy dream.
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