Tree-In-Bud Sign

Crack. Skin itchy. Whatever teeth I have

are going to be sold for more. For more

crack. I tell myself that I don't. I don't

need it. Just a few grams. Apartment

cockroach fiend spirals upward on the wall.

I think he's looking for some food. Or maybe

a girl. A girl he can settle down and raise

a family with. He would just fuck it

up. Men are assholes. They just leave.

He must be an asshole

sometimes. That's why his sister won't answer

his calls. Maybe it's because he usually calls

at 4 a.m. She's a mother now. Sometimes,

it doesn't work out, sometimes he loses money –

the money he’s saved for crack. How many cocks

can fit in his mouth before he coughs? Before he’s

had enough? Had enough crack.

He was too impatient for prayer and crack

is immediate, but everybody has to bow down

to something. He can't seem to believe in anything

anymore. Not even people who die and practice

law and forget about things like working

for money or blowing for money. A dick

in his mouth makes him feel brand new again

if he can just get his hands on some crack.

Just a few grams.

The cockroach fell off the ceiling and broke his

back, so I decided to hover my foot over him

until my foot got tired.

Poor guy.