The sheep was out of bounds.
Horses, hookers and dolls were o.k.
But everybody hits rock bottom.
Next morn it’s up and climbing.
Every day thereafter is a mountain.
Praying for a foothold.
Cactus is your only friend.
And at the apex, what awaits you
but a downhill slide over scree,
shale, thorn, bark and bother.
Another fall, another winter.
A drop in the bucket of slop
that seems to be the destiny of man.