i'll save the love i have to give
for when i'm dying and wish i lived
a life with days more filled with love
than i remembered filling

since i'll regret the vapid days
and vapid has its sneaky ways
of being relative
in all honest attempts at definition

there is no point in trying hard
in holding in a demanding fart
in crawling up the wall
of growing expectation

i think i'll waste away instead
scratching my balls, rubbing my head
drinking vodka tonics by the pool
and flirting with the waitress

life is meaningless and cruel
the hot inevitable drool
gathers at the corner of a dog's mouth
when sex and meat are a possibility