Receipt

This 'poem' was hastily scribbled on the back of a lengthy receipt while driving from Helena to Missoula.

It is dated 5/17/08

Seat-backs,
flapjacks,
relax,
it's Cinemax.
Must focus,
plague of locust
hocus pocus,
smog will choke us
sharps will poke us,
politicians still joke us.

For now alright,
shits all tight,
no need to fight,
blind your sight,
ignore
at the door
all the poor
Horsemen four,
their unsettled score.

Trim your beard,
as you feared
it will get weird,
the end has neared.
Hit the dirt,
less you hurt
your favorite shirt,
your blood will squirt.

Take this sign,
not as mine.
Nothing's fine,
husk and rind,
of a world
all unfurled,
lost and twirled.

You now ask why?
With a sigh,
but can't reply,
want to cry,
time to die
in our filthy sty.

My grandpa,
at see-saw,
wrote the law
of fist and jaw.
Then we took,
his ancient book,
moved our rook,
dice were shook,
all were six,
down in Styx,
sins will mix,
take our licks,
too late to fix.
The broken game,
of words and fame,
beasts we tame
never the same.

So love em',
hate em',
ad infinitum.

Do your worst,
try your best,
Alea iacta est.