LOU RASMUS

It’s all sweat in the morning.
It’s coffee,
and burnt toast,
and then the same worries
that I always have.
It has something to do
with the start of a new day,
I think,
because each day seems like
it could be my last day.
Each day feels like it could be
the day that I crash my car
on the way to work,
or choke on a bite of food,
or find out that it’s actually cancer
that has been fucking
with my mood.
It’s always just a bunch of
irrational fears
that appear real
until the night comes.
And then I feel fine.
Then I know that I’ve made it
through another day,
and all I have to do is
drink
and smoke
and fuck
until I fall asleep,
and I
almost
sort of
barely
stop sweating.