too much coffee, too little time

I wonder how much
I have left in the tank these days
would a new woman a new
location a new life be enough
to kill me or cure me
something in me has always
needed killing or so
I've been told though I am
just as sure something
in me needs curing
it could be
a ham

just getting my ass out
of the apartment lately seems
like a major chore
where the fuck is my shoe
these gloves don't match
maybe I need some more
coffee first is this trip

I sit here in front of the
big blank eye of god
trying to figure out
what question I would ask
if I thought god were
listening I think maybe it's
should I keep doing this
is there a point to this
what the hell
is this

so I put away canned goods
like a mormon as though
canned goods could keep
you alive long enough
to eat them buy enough
coffee to keep god awake
so I don't have to sit
here alone and try writing
something about nothing
again to send out into
the great noplace
the internet electronic
trash can

where my dumpster
diving friends will find it
anyway and tell me
this is a good one
keep writing
as if I did this because
I want to and might
change my mind
and stop

the little red line seems
to be pointing to E
but there is one who
claims she can fill
the old tank up one
more time and make
the engine purr
and who am I
not to let
her try

and I think
I can do this
anywhere whatever this
is I will do it alone
wherever I do it
this writing solitary as
death but need not be like
death the rest of the time
and it would be nice to have
something else to care
about one person to care
about one person
to care

so I look around this
place and think
if I live here forever
I'll die here
and though I'm not sure
where I should be going
as if I'd ever been
leaving seems less
like a chore and more
like samba lessons from
god who sits on my
shoulder like a cartoon
saying you think you
got something
to lose

as a smaller drunken god
sits on the other
shoulder and says
shoot yourself in the head
like he always says
and I figure they're
both wrong again
talking to god only works
for tv preachers
and saints but then
the ham inside me
says yes you can


© 1999 by
michael mcneilley