solo flight

i sit alone and in the night

reluctant dawn still miles away

with leaking pen i try to write

(it’s what i do instead of pray)

the fat, round clocks no longer tic

the fat, round clocks no longer tock

and my thin soul has grown quite thick

i am a sausage in a sock

life hurts me still, yet here i am

and with blind will then here i’ll be

a floating fiery flock of flotsam

on a black and oil slick, rainbow’ed sea

if i had only known before

what i have too late and lately learned

i would have paid the wearisome whore

and left my languishing lover spurned

for life is filled with many’a choice

sweet death is but a candle snuffed

i shouted and screamed while i had my voice

temper tantrums in a teapot just weren’t enough

so gather ‘round children why i explain

as the crickets’ chirps slice slices of the night

what it’s like to watch god gurgle down the drain

what’s it’s like to fly a solo flight