here's an older poem...
wonderful
Holes in the ceiling lead me to believe they are there for a reason and I can barely control my desire to fling a pencil into the air and tightly squirt it into any one of the bastards. I take the last sip out of my water bottle and think back to last night when I drove around smoking cheap cigarettes until my throat ached. But I didn't see any possums on the road and while that left me disappointed I did catch a glimpse of two raccoons who seemed delighted with the decrepit surrounding and absence of daylight. I envied them as my headlights illuminated their beady eyes and bushy tails because they had each other and the night was theirs.
