I think my bulldog
is the Buddha

he has forsaken
these worldly pleasures
of sex, drugs, and
Dairy Queen

I, however, have not.
but I have slowed.

most days left to myself
consist of
rejection notices for
bad writing
greasy breakfast meat
and tingling feet
from sitting too long
on the toilet
reading Dr. Gonzo.

later though,
it always creeps it's
way back in

blazing fires
foreshadowing our demise
loud talk
mass quantities
of alcohol and reefer
the deafening madness
of our own
sick humor
put into motion

''how dare they tell me…''
and blah, blah

we have no motive
except to condemn
those uninspired

and maybe make
a few dick jokes.