down by the shore

I am writing a poem.
I have not written a poem for
6 months.
a girl knocked at my door
last night.
I let her in.
it cost me 45 dollars.
she had beautiful eyes.
she said I was selfish.
she asked for drugs.
I kicked her ass out.
Chinaski doesn’t write me
anymore.
well, fuck him.
I’ve got my demons
they are circling me in a
little dance.
their eyes are red.
they have on little red, white
and blue paper
caps.
they stick their tongues out
at me.
I grab one and throw him
into the fireplace.
the fire is burning.
he twists like a little snake.
then he’s still.
it stinks here.
I fed the birds today and
thought about writing a
poem.
sometimes all my poems
come back.
sometimes the editors are
assholes.
that girl last night was the
first girl in 5 years.
now I am writing a poem
about her.
that 45 bucks was worth
it.
now the demons are
burying the burnt
demon.
they are chanting.
and
I am a poem writer.
and the editors are
jealous of
me.
fuck them.
and fuck Chinaski.
and fuck these
demons.