I’m tired of whittling on the carcasses of

blind 3-eyeballed dragons with

dried-up peas rattling around inside their broken skulls…


I’m tired of finding girlfriends of yesterday

hung by the neck ’til dead & gone & gone again

from the sagging branch of the hanging tree infront of

the sherriff’s office & him hiding in

a locked jail cell all night long…


I’m tired of being told by the whistling wind that

my hair is too long & my work day is too short

& to hand it all over to a landlord who was born dead…


I’m so damn tired of walking around avoiding goons in cars

who chip at my brain with an insane

overload from television noisily sucking the juice outta their souls

& splattering this goon piss all over my reading lamp…


I’m weary so weary bleary & tossed & turned burned

& still walking ~ always walking around ~ in this

ghost town called Love

ahhh yes, this craven ghost town

this squirrelly ghost town…


(Copyright Clyde Collins 2011)


Go ahead, visit