Division Street: Old, unhealthy days, burning in youth.

on the floor

lines divide

themselves

into areas

the area of the poor

the diseased

the areas of talkers

the areas of dreamers

of suicide

all multiplied by the sorrow

I sit in the midwest and

and smoke reds

on a sunday morning

garbage strewn across the floor

death sitting in every

corner of the place

60 bucks in my wallet, a dog,

enough possessions that I

would need

a car to move them

2 days of eggs in the fridge

sitting in the midwest

on a sunday morning

hating my instincts

and

the days here

and the nights here

keep blending, melting together

into one long haze

divided by the lines in my heart and belly

divided by vacuuming the rug

and sleeping in stints of hours

multiplied by the sorrow again

as the dryer bangs away in the next room

as a cricket sings electric in the dark

below my floorboard

as the locusts gather to shed in the late summer

with the lightning bug retreating

while my body

deteriorates from lack of nutrients

the dream hardening

each day of flatness

the dryer banging away

somebody should secure

that damned thing.