Band of Sunset

This isn't effortless, you understand.
I have to try. Nothing comes easy here:
Amid the effluents, the smell of fear
Pervades the nostrils, and a shaking hand
Points at the grey horizon. A dim band
Of sunset, broken like a dead man's spear,
Seems to have rested supine there all year,
The most especial opposite of grand.

Don't try to soothe me with those cooing sounds.
My stomach hurts, because of some damn bet
I lost before the white cement had set,
And every ball I touch rolls out of bounds.
I've measured out my life in coffee grounds,
Debasing myself, covered in flop sweat.