Hopeless

you make mention of some scummy gem
of "poetry" i puked or sang or scrawled-
of how its lines dripped heavy with a note
of affection not often found, a dream
undreamed almost forever. now i seem
here to myself, listening to my rattle brain,
a brute whose eyes grow purplish, bulge, and bloat-
whose mind spits gobby gluts of yellowish phlegm.

and now one part of me that will not die
goes wild, and screams, "love, love, love"
and bashes its head raw against the sky-
another is drowning in a lake of desire.
love! both parts of me raising hell- and hopeless, i
behold them with my pen ensnared in mud.