Tom Waits Is Rattling The Window Panes

A glass of red is (like me) half drunk.
Problems have been packed away
in a big black padlocked trunk
and dragged to the seashore.

The sea will have captured them
by now. They’ll be gasping.
Drowned. Sunk.

So I’m feeling as at peace as a monk
who enjoys all the benefits of the religious life
(the silence, the faith, the thoughtful prayer)
but is still allowed to have sex.


God's Away On Business

Bad As Me