i got cut in daylight
it was a sunday
and the air undulated a hum.

i know a guy
who works 40 plus
a week
sixty nasty minutes
both ways in traffic
he comes home in a drag
but then he lives because
he’s making it work.

he should be
the fucking poet.

what business do i have
sucking salty air in the
cut-rate glory days
of my wasted youth
in the spaces of my life
forever surfing couches
shaking beer cans
struck dumb and
reeling from love
praying foolishly
that the lakeshow
will make a comeback.