—————————————————————–
in a dumpster
a wet fart at three in the afternoon
a black woman taking advantage
of my kindness
a sunday driver on a thursday
40 in a 55, no place to pass
the mind drifts
lola by the kinks comes on
the radio
who hasn’t fallen for one
of those
the smell of burning rubber
another relic from the past
in a dumpster
hanging on to memories
that no one else wants
now on the highway
headed to somewhere even
less exciting
death just around the next
corner
ten more years to wait
never was any fucking
good at timing
——————————————————
the hamster
sometimes i feel like the hamster
that learned that fucking wheel
goes nowhere
wishing the water was actually
gin or vodka, maybe moonshine
and i really want to love
i really want to live
but all these years are conspiring
against me
too old for the obstacle course
too old to play these fucking
games
i’ll be over in the corner
ice on my back
shotgun ready for the
inevitable
save me or help me aim
each is an act of love
let that sink in
——————————————————
down to the bottom
sometimes the pain
becomes this anchor
dragging me down
to the bottom
all my friends are
down there
hide the needles
we start quoting kerouac
but no one wants to come
down from the mountain
someone pretends they
can play coltrane better
than anyone else
i tell the bartender to
cut that fucker off
give me all his drinks
eventually, i’ll slip
into the beyond
for a few minutes
embrace the nothingness
as the only thing that was
ever real
a broken kiss
and a final embrace
no such thing as goodbye
——————————————————
even the children
subtle beauty
lost in the wild lust
of a world trying to
die
no fucks given
no tomorrow ever
promised
even the children
can understand
impending doom
and all the beauty
can hear is laughter
never good enough
never loved enough
settled for one too
many one night stands
all just entries for a
diary no one ever
wanted to read
it all ends up in a
dive bar
snorting something
white just for kicks
a bourbon, a scotch
fuck, you know
the song
—————————————————-just a middle finger
no urgency in your kiss
reckless abandon has
left us all
a plea for help
in a world of
deaf ears
and sign language is more
than just a middle finger
somewhere burroughs puts
the apple on your head and
says it will all be over soon
enough
fucker won’t even cook
you up a shot
and this is what it is
one man’s tragedy is
some fucker’s delight
the tension so thick
you can taste it
your final escape
a lifetime of piss poor
choices
only a fool would ever
expect a better outcome
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know where the bodies are buried. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Yellow Mama, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, Night Owl Negative and Disturb the Universe Magazine. His most recent book, to live your dreams, published by Whiskey City Press, is available at Amazon.com. you can find it by clicking here: https://a.co/d/0frIpA15