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Shot house funk
Jukebox blues
A stool and a dime
To play my tunes
Traveling with mom
Her little pimp
Couldn’t lose.

Act like they’re
Hauling a bucket
Of joy around.

Act like they
Can’t wait to
Lie in the ground.

Sober is heaven
Warm meals
Facial caresses
Thumb wrestling
Breath holding contests.

She could do me
No wrong at seven
The sweetest when
Eating grapes and melons.
She stabbed me
When I was eleven.

Who would
I die for?
Who would die for me?
We die for each other
Is how it should be.

Just one more embrace,
Drunk as a skunk,
Or glowing like an angel.
God please grant me
This one last

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