a sad poem

it costs too much to write
another sad poem
and the magazines hardly buy
that crap
anymore.

so instead
here’s
a poem about a
sad poem
and a bit of burden
like a can of something in my fridge
so that it may
fill you
once
more.

don’t worry about me.

i have the legs of a whore
and the
love of a beautiful woman
to keep me
well occupied
til the age
of
55 …
if i should live past tonight.