i got poetry in me!

so this is how it happens
in a room like a ditch
but with some satin,
bleeding from a tiny little hole in your gut
while the first presbyterian church burns
and your woman ties one off in her mouth.
although we do all sorts of things
against our better judgment
this is not the time to talk about them.

you’ve gotten snow in your beard
there are five bullets left

please come home now,
i’ve made you your breakfast
it’s on the table.