scarecrows

there's enough gunpowder in my brain
to blow up everyone and everything
in a 100-miles radius,
and I don't think I ever needed
anyone to dig down for me -- no, never --
because
I'm a self-destruction maverick
and my psychiatrist
is a nicotine-filled century old scarecrow
dancing to the rhythm of clashing ice cubes
inside a half-empty whiskey glass
at 9:43 in the morning.