Stuck
A world without Bill.
This building would be a hotel.
Stuck, fucking stuck
My first words to be heard and I’m fucking stuck
Stuck in a fucking airport, surrounded yet unseen, in a river of people trying to make time.
I got all the time and no time. Awake since 11 pm; fueled by 7&7’s and internet pills.
I wish the bartender would ask, he don’t.
Will the whiskey wash away the gunk in the gears? It wont.
I can write about nothing, but the concerned material is lost.
I need a concise impression of a man’s life, but God and a thousand people put a plug in the pipes
What to do, what to do
What to do, what to do
A Chinaskian muse has me on the wrong feeling.
I’m done for, simply clutching a weak metaphor
FUCK.
more by JORDAN CLAYTON
photograph by Matthew Wiebe
