AM Morning Poem, that Went off The Rails

 Roll call

roll up

just roll out’ta bed

We ain’t rollin’ up

no weed, 

we sippin’ coffee instead

Tryin’ to hit goals

on a Tuesday morn,

but the pen is 

rough stuck, 

like we not even born

Able mind

able body

ableism is a thing

kind of hard to spell

as ageism stings–

Lower back, lower town

we drownin’ in pain,

pop 2 Advil,

so the poet can sang

Sang a song

hit the bong

old Nick is here, 

don’t call him saint

because my X’s a bitch

it didn’t rhyme, fuck the crime

Some will cry &

crash

this is just an attempt 

at A.M. madness 

mash the gas

pass the stash

find the hash

hold the ash

steady the hand

handle the pain

suck up the tears

for some seeds

you plant will just 

grow crooked

But can’t camp out 

at Fort Whimper & Whine 

straighten & stiffen

your spine, as your 

coffee cup begs for wine

at 8:03 am–

It’s the 23rd slim

and you got 48 

to strangle;

Do your best 

not to

suffocate or hate

this time of year

just because you stopped 

believing in the 

fight

8:04 am—

fuck you.