Half assed

Despite the alamo stance
of my ego
I must admit
that I'm not all in
fighter or
lover

Oh, I can ring your bell
or spring you a leak
but
pick up the pieces
after an altercation
I'm gone like the wind
and in no way graceful
like the cliche suggests
more of a molar
gone by way of rusty pliers
and no anesthesia

a bad taste
spit and blood

Not committed enough
for cynicism or bitterness
or those other intellectual musings
that neglect unseen forces
and laugh at soul
but
I am certainly not enthused

Couldn't even pull off junky
still here, kinda clean
but far from sober

Not a writer
but a pen and pad
are easier to maintain
than a studio
with brushes
and paint
and
should I return I might succeed