clutch sentry mission log

i am clutching the handle

of the toilet seat keeping

watch over the imbibers
of numberless remedies

not a spot on the coffee table
gives itself up to the ash marshes

that overtake the checkered oak

i spy a little complacency

fortunately no one has ever
known the interior of a good time
we slip into the cracked skin
of the situations that somehow

we keep finding ourselves in

my defenses are crumbling

damn the water damage
fixing my fidgety flame

as the steady mind-drum

beats to the munching of melted
snow i think of the commander
the great fiery father Ra

i want to partake in the puddle
strip my heart of its galoshes
and let a little wet in
but i hold strong to withholding

and cannot shake the notion
that if i was told i had three
days left i believe i could
get everything done on time