Tethered to some Round Kennel

Fuck the momentum of No
from his head-pendulum.
He could implode like his idols --

Drag that thick, green
blanket; lie laughing-up
his leftovers - extend
a marble finger toward
those anyone-after.

(Perhaps a sect to saint him
with a halo-epitaph --

Focus of a serial self-killer
and the failure of fake daylight
until night fell gutted...)

Instead, the phone's tongue
is cut-out and shadows pass-out
under everything. The boredom
of being awake.

Town
to town.
(Nicotine-oil window
to nicotine-oil window)
Traffic passes in distant grunts.

He writes his name
to see himself;
to throw himself away again.

... tethered to this round kennel,
he bayed and bayed and...