the works of America’s greatest living poemetrist, alive or otherwise.
i really wish
being tired
was an actual
and defensible excuse;
i’d be set for life….
the audience grows smaller
and i try to convince myself
the audience was never
the point of the exercise.
i refuse to believe that crap….
given that everybody
is going to die someday,
and i do mean everybody;
and given that everything
is going to end someday….
you say you’re tired of it all
after, what?
four months?
five?
but what if….
some mornings
i wake
and i remember –
i dreamed,
and i forgot….
one of the most important
things i do each day,
mandatory for my happiness
and general well-being,
is to fool myself….
wishing for magic
in a physical world
doesn’t just double down
on the impossible –
there goes another….
running so fiercely
from that which i fear.
no hesitation,
no doubt;
just everything in my power….
we are a complex thing,
we humans;
yet we demand,
to the point of being willing
to die to make the point….
life is all about
the disappointment, right?
i’m not stupid enough
to believe in
satisfactory endings….
“Sentence first!
Verdict after!”
the Queen of Hearts
understands
my mind….
it sucks
to know
that i know
all i need
to know….
the point,
said the Buddha,
is that you
are already free.
you just haven’t….
this is where
disappointment shows
her pretty face
just to ensure
i hurt….
壹
summertime is not
without inconveniences:
endless sweatiness.
