Eat shit, roll over and die,
I face my day with every cast of the die.
Ah, don’t ask why in the mirror I spy
this oddly even cast in my eye,
as if the mind hobbled in a cast. Just
ask to – to stay in God’s eye just –
flee my reverse face trapped in the glass,
while I recite this verse for a cast of one.
I – bar through fist – eye at infinity –
contemplate, through thin flesh,
the humdrum on today’s plate:
iced veins at the office,
marching in vain
to tedium’s fife and drum.
To the job I hate, never make me late.
Eat shit, roll over and die,
I fear my day with every cast of the die.
In Between Hangovers 