if i was broke, ugly, and a cripple
would you try to love me harder?

or would you scream at me louder
further testing the neighbor's patience

would you forgive all my past doing
and all the doing yet to come

or would you find perverted fun
in the trouble i'd now have with stairs

i find myself by myself wondering things like this
as a sort of break from the dramaless Reality that one may wonder
how it has not beaten me into a puddle of dried dog piss

stunned and sheepish, i sit behind the desk with tasks.
the sun rises and the garbage trucks have gone home to their women.
one of your eyes awakens, and i decide to let the morning do me in