Seems like

  a turmoil; lost in

time; an old hat, a wooden cane;

a thousand paperbacks, tin soldiers,

  a box with sixties fonts holds a Wilson baseball, 

you cleared the floor and vacuumed, killed a mouse

 on a sticky pad, let bygones be bygones;

whatever the fuck that means, it is what it is?

another day with Bit O Honeys, which you shouldn't be 

eating; the craven brooks of saltine dreams,

the mesmerized rampant howling 

of late night loneliness 

   you did six loads of laundry 

   but there's still a ton more

Hasta la vista

 compadre