Middle of the back
Middle of the road
Middle of this clustered convulsion

My lips are chapped from too much hot sauce
Middle of the sandwich
Eyes tired from too much beer

My desire is still too exhausted from too much nothing
Middle of the soul

There is no lack of love
There is just none of what I want and no way for me to find it

Tonight I will go to sleep dreaming as always of the
destinations and the women I wish I had to comfort me

Middle of the bed
Waking still in the same place same rotting teeth
trying to forget, as I always do
why someone who tries so hard to be so good, do such good
always ends up being so alone

Middle of the life
Middle of the inspired
Middle of the road

af

(written with pen on paper)