At the end of another day
All is rotten
After the nightly feast
The dishes are speckled with uneaten food bits

The carcass strewn down the highway, a torn life
is rotting.
This is how life ends
Pretty or not.
Now the end of winter is called beautiful
And it is all melt, brown grass and mud
Just rotten slop.

This chirping of the birds
Chasing away the drunken moon
Is another rotten trick
To the possums and long haul truckers alike

Most of the soft poetry
Written by thoughtful young women…
Another rotten trick
Made to twist your guts and sooth
Your uneasiness.

I am a rotten man
Now that I have shared this with someone
Signed my name on it
Still
It was better than slipping it out
On my rotten tongue
Into thin ears
With short perspectives