potential

his is locked from
there] (thats a good lock)
mine
is
locked]]]]]]]
and i am my dog[ and drunken albert] is my dog and his dad] (my great grandfather) is my dog]]
road dogs
we are all locked into this thing, but the worst is the little dog
i’m at it once more
helpless hopeless
[dogstyle]

god help them

we were in texas, drinking whiskey and mt dew. we were having a lighthearted conversation about life, and what i’d become (a selfish drunk).
  he looked at me through his glasses, smiling. not an evil smile, an honest one.
  “god help anyone that ever has to count on you, lou.”
  we laughed up a good one. we were supposed to be dove hunting, but there were no birds to be found. we wound up shooting at frogs in a small stock tank (pond).
  he fried up those legs and we ate them.
it all makes me wonder about heaven
if its true
i’m probably not going
but if its not, how about those frogs? are they gonna be pissed? how about my dogs? they’re gonna kill me.

well well

 i have an urge to write
a sickness descended on everything
yesterday i bled into tubes
this morning tubes rang forming optimism
 ”but the hangman wasn’t hanging and they put you on the street”
but i’m on the couch with coffee and newsprint
my lungs still chafing at some unknown bullshit