no more dry cleaners except for very important occasions, dress shirts go in the laundry with socks and underwear, iron each one individually.
homemade lunches, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, tuna fish, need to cut down on the tuna fish for all those heavy metals.
i've gone through three pair of shoe laces on my black shoes. my black shoes have walked many miles. almost sole-less soulful black shoes.
plastic cups for spare change picked bare of quarters. shared housing with maniacs.
shave my own head over the sink, no shampoo needed.
tip the bartender one dollar. one dollar for their shitty attitude most of the time.
two if they've got a heart which is hard to find in the hip side of brooklyn.
manager's specials in the meats aisle, portions for freezing.
onions last for days in air tight tupperware plastics tucked in the back of the refrigerator.
no more holidays, the black cadillac will have to wait a few
no more trappist beer or french wines
no filet mignon, no more hot pink dinner jackets to look like a fool in
no more full body massages,
no more korean yoga classes
no more handsome guitars or batcave electronics
no more high maintenance lovers and their parents to impress.
free meals welcome, leftovers appreciated
6 day work weeks, stolen moments for daydreaming where bosses can't see,
angel kisses cease to exist
broken noses get handed down blind sided
dirt sandwiches in a dust bowl of raw deals
weathering all the hysterics
of the golden storm
for the poem
which will be around
long after these withered bones
are dug up by scavenger dogs
on a hot night in July.
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