Whiskey in the Afternoon

A frozen horse whinnies and its mane shatters.
Shadows from a flaming train in flux
On the branches of a poplar tree,
Egg white in my beard,
Headache. There is
No such thing
As the week
end, my
foe.

You
Really
Have no
Idea how desolate
The world has become.
It wants for you to find out.
But the pain is too great for most,
And not nearly sexy enough for some.
The horse parts have melted and the train
Is in cinders. I hope that now you might understand.

My innards could be covered in Velcro for all I know.
Take 'em out and pitch them on someone's
Couch then divine the secrets of your
Your mother's betrayal, why
She never ever sleeps well.
Doctors are not to be
Trusted - ever,
Understand?
Hmm?

How
Am I to
Ever catch
That little shit,
The one who mocks
My every attempt to start
Fires and then pisses on them
Once they roar? How am I supposed
To compete with a leprechaun? And what
In the god damn hell happened to my Lucky Charms?