Taking it Easy

Avoid the topic,
dear God, whatever you do.
Your demons are cool.

It’s not self-serve death, served chilled,
but the hard warmth of whiskey.

Sit in a cool room,
and just try to speak softly.
Drink steels poets’ lips.

Take in a goddamned movie.
Sit still, and count your blessings.

One more cigarette,
too few reasons to quit it,
and three drags, I leave.

Number the stars in Heaven.
Hell houses more dead virgins.

It’s not that hard, man.
You tell a woman you love
tacos, and you screw.

What season is this, again?
Never let on. No, not once.

One hot night’s reprieve
from sweating “ev’ry” detail–
“Dude, you got no chill.”

I don’t know if it’s summer
or when gentle spring gave up.

The way the world ends
doesn’t matter to the man
beginning to end.

I compose my daughter’s dirge.
I am a verse to the sun.

Delay a poem,
and have no more vexation
til the bill comes due.