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Order this writing in the chapbook Colon Wanted by Charles Michael Craven

Order this writing in the book Laying the Groundwork

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Yesterday

Charles Michael Craven

spent most of the morning
throwing up yesterday’s escape,
spent the rest of it
shitting out my colon’s sloppy seconds.

by noon
I felt good enough
to fight down a waffle
smothered in Log Cabin syrup.

after that
I choked down a six pack
to prove
I’m not a quitter
and by the time I finished,
the night before
and the brutal morning
had been lost to a burned short term memory.

the afternoon
consisted of a Cuban cigar
smuggled back for me in a tampon box
and some more howling at the setting sun.

still had seen no humans
no smiles
no frowns
no tears
just the noise of a quiet storm
attempting to herd some cats.

the stars and moon and insects
come out
but by the 11th beer
and third joint
the recognition has slowed
to a toddler’s crawl.

a strange girl vibrates my cell phone
but my dick lies comatose
between the legs disappearing from Crohn’s Disease.

fuck Crohn’s Disease.

a yawn circles the hay
as cows bellow towards the clouds
that refuse to piss on the grass.

I watch from the dead pan porch
sipping toxins
and blowing smoke
towards a God
no long concerned
with the flock
that keeps getting confused by the meaning of
time.

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