Tomorrow is a good day to start on the path of virtue...

I could be more honest with myself. I would say,
“You’re not a genius, you’re not a poet,
You’re not even philosophical.” I wouldn’t break a line
Saying it, to make things look dramatic
Or pre-meditated -- “Sincerity
Doesn‘t wear makeup.” Breaking a line
Is like breaking out a cigarette, more for the look
Than anything else. If I saw my face,
If I saw my lips move while I said it,
Maybe mouthing the words in a dirty room
Five stories above Stark, watching
Neon-blonds on the arms of mustachios go
To Club Portland, I might think I was an animal
Just eating and sleeping and fucking
And making things dirt.
Instead I’m sitting on the ground-floor
Of Mt. Tabor about 30 minutes by bus
From the Reed College Bibliotheque.
I left out my housemate’s dog and forgot to lock
The door while I was writing the apocalypse
And sighing with the heat. Tonight
I won’t be able to sleep, tomorrow I’ll go to work
And I’ll return, rinse, repeat. I think too much --
Too much to be honest, anyway.
But I don’t smoke.