More Water Than Vodka

Jealousy just happens
on a hip-hop Tuesday mid morning
for a stupid reason;
Man, I hate being human.

Do crocodiles care about what's right?
Do bugs become envious?
Do the tines of a fork know of stabbing?
Do steak knives hate butter knives for being pedestrian?

These stupid sober questions
are all I have this late March day,
as noon turns to now
and dreams drown.

This turns into grizzled that,
day drinking which turns
into cocaine nights that
stretch into the next day(s).

Because of hangover
and unhealed wounds
and thinking out loud,
thing a shrink would see from space.

I'll call when I can,
one day when I am not random,
jealous of nothing,
and stupid enough to try to wash it all away with love.