Ladies Man

I’m not

‘cause I sleep on buses,

And curse at street sellers,

‘cause I shower at two a.m,

And eat Chocolate Bars for Breakfast,

‘cause I masturbate to women,

Spreading their entertainment,

‘cause my heroes are deadbeats,

Obese actors and moody chefs,

‘cause my heads shaved,

And no one has what I ask for,

‘cause the box you get me in,

Is wet,

And broken,

My nerves have been chewed,

By guilt and domestic violence,

‘cause I’ll be thirty,

And this takes up my conscious and,

Unconscious,

‘cause my sleep revolves around last year,

My skin wrinkles,

‘cause women see the word Friend,

In my dog eyes,

‘cause I spend weekends,

With words,

And weekdays with food,

‘cause my flat is a suitcase,

And I eat in bed,

‘cause last Sunday,

I watched three games,

‘cause I go to the British Museum,

Because there’s a hot cunt assistant,

‘cause I think of next week,

‘cause I don’t like speaking on the phone,

‘cause I still take x,

‘cause I don’t drive,

Because poetry’s not what it used