[lumberpoet]

You stand over me in your shame
The cold fried Chicken crumbs
Descend on me like tears
Like tiny little failure flakes on a grave

Wash them down now, wash them down
Close the fridge, you left it open
Tip up that glass of Vodka, friend
I'll take it when you're done

Leave it for the morning, leave it behind
The morning sun through the window will find it there
With the last smudge of lipstick
From the date you were on

You had JUST ONE glass of wine
And you had the Fish
And you only ate half
And you didn't even like him

But with me, you are honest.

These remnants of food and drink
bestowed on me in shame
They lift me up, they fill me
I am your friend. I am your Kitchen Sink.


PS. Comet burns my throat.

kthxbai