Sex and Murder Magazine

By John Tustin

this is my death
stepping over toys in the living
room with scabby eczema-ravaged feet,
beer burps and flatulence and false crown

this is my death
greasy lips disconnected slightly Neil Young blasting
as I contemplate pornography and
impossible dreams

this is my death
of subservient immolation
and the fear of
forward movement

this is my death
of steak and potatoes
and Sam Adams and Dr. Pepper
and Cadbury Fruit and Nut Bar

this is my death
of writing without reading
acting without thinking
needing without comprehending

this is my death
of words without action
of thought without deed
beautiful blue eyes surrounded by excrement

and fast-folding lies
medicated for comfort
dedicated only
to the promise that tomorrow will come