Toilet

It's late and the beer is in me now
I dimmed the lights hours ago to see less of
the nightmare
And the only sound comes from the toilet
That runs, and runs, and runs

If I could count the smokestacks
buried beneath the living room rug
I'm sure the doctors wouldn't believe me
the damn dirty dogs

howling at the moon
my curiosity bellows
something fierce

I quiet for a moment
to pay my respects to
daybreak

it's funny how
the martyrs always ring the bell
right before the audience
sees their ass

I suppose it doesn't matter
at least not the way most people
think

animals are anchors of madness
or maybe they force us to see our own

he descends like fog
his purr eroding
the facade of some ancient temple
a cog named slave built
hardened hands pining
for destruction
one hand on the wheel
the other on the grenade

make no mistake
my cat is the emperor
geometry sprawled out
over the peaks of my couch
corrupting the conspiracy theories
of your drunk old man
and playing clown in my
tear down circus

he watches me
dying slowly
stalking endless days
I couldn't be more envious
the son of a bitch

Maybe this was all a mistake
Moving in together, the love turning into
something ordinary

I've always slanted to one side
standing naked in the sun
my limbs heavy from pointing
at the northward sky

I'll tell-yuh what
not only gods build towers to the sky
I gave it up and gave in to the crowd
And bartered cigarettes for love
and tried a million ways
to feel alive

but
This house is no different than the rest
and at best the toilets flush

and at worst
they run, and run, and run
a reminder
you're just as full of shit
as they are