Tumbleweeds

Most people are sick

and you know it

but don't want to

confess

let alone repent.

I'm here to acknowledge that

for your sake

and mine

and while we're at it

let's include 

the military-industrial complex.

Now's the time.

There are only two days left

until the next full moon.

Waxing Gibbous

whatever that means

to those of us

without the tattoo.

Close enough.

We're the boys

and girls

sans club

who cried "Wolf!"

then went about

our evenings.

We're liars.

"Call me any time."

Then leave our texts on "Read".

We're making the poor argument

that a slow bullet's

more kind than a fast one

when truly

ask Lenny

and his rabbits 

in hell.

I could've gone

for a friend tonight

but will settle for a bottle

that one bought me

instead.

The deep slug of bourbon.

The second cigarette.

The slow lead

is better than none

if it ends this.