tomorrow is sooner than you think
Someday I'll be an old man robbing liquor stores. Not for money but for liquor. And cans of soup and mircrowave burritos. And the Sunday paper if such a thing still exits when I'm an old man.
And I'll be an old man wandering the empty parking lots of the future, wondering how the sky got darker than my raincoat. Other old men and women will be searching for bottles and aluminum cans. I'll search for poems tucked in the cracks of parking blocks or in the base of a streetlight. And I'll stay out much too late with the taste of beer souring my tongue.
And I'll fall asleep in a parking garage after jerking off to found pornographic magazines (if there is such a thing when I'm an old man) dug out of a dumpster.
And William Faulkner's novels will still be in print. And I'll read twenty pages the following morning in the merciless light of hangover.