GOD IS IN YOUR TYPEWRITER
God is in your typewriter.
The devil is in the bushes outside.
The devil is in your head as you soap your balls in the shower.
The devil is calling you on the phone.
The devil is smiling up at you when you punch the clock.
The devil woke up beside you this morning
And spit in your face.
God is waiting for you to stop being
Such a lazy bastard
And flush him out
With the pounding
Of the keys,
With the filling
Of the pages.
OUT OF COFFEE
I’m out of coffee and I’m out of money
And I’ve lost those I love the most
And I have this pain in my right arm so I can’t sleep
And I can’t seem to get out of bed before 10
And I’m listening to Lucinda Williams now
And the heat’s coming up on this cold night.
I deserve all of this. And I deserve better
And I deserve worse
And Lucinda Williams sings Six Blocks Away
And I won’t be able to sleep again tonight
My fucking arm is killing me.
I’m out of coffee and money
But I still have some teabags
So that’s something.
John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals in the last dozen years. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.