The Life of an Empty Keg
05/24/2010 11:47 p.m.
Well at this point
I'm not even sure I live in this city.
I know little places that mean so much to me,
red metro diner with its crispy sausage
and the mural of the surprised chef declaring that they're

"Always cookin!"

I wish I was always cookin'. But now,
it's just me in an empty house
with an empty keg.

And I'm not even sure I live in this house
couch-surfing in my childhood home
and watching the ocean's waves
crest and trough in my royal blue solo cup:
Daddy's little princess.

And I'm sure you've heard by now
of how Zeus made men with four arms and two faces,
split them down the middle,
and doomed them to forever seek their other half.

The antique tv blares at me that a baby was born in india
the result of chemical milk
with however many arms and heads.

And I'm wondering if I was born that way,
nobody told me I used to be a complete human-of-zeus
nobody told the doctors those legends,
so they just neatly cleaved off my "extras"
and made me a lonely bastard, just like them.

I'm not even sure I live on mount Olympus
but this theory of mine is nonsense:
This sort of emptiness must be self-inflicted.
I am currently Dumb