I have been drinking poems,
hoping some would taste better
than the beer that I have given up this Lent of my life.

I had hoped that I could fret fingerboards enough
to accumulate wealth to sustain this slow decline.

I thought that going to work
and coming home
and taking responsibility
could substitute for love.

Now I look back
and regrets loom
and mock my righteousness,
because it’s not enough
to make up for not knowing
how to distill affection to a spirit
that could be stored for future erections.

11/03/2013

Author's Note: I gave up.

Posted on 11/04/2013
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