the works of America’s greatest living poemetrist, alive or otherwise.
the space
in my head
is too small
for me
to live.
confronting
what i would
rather ignore
until it
disappears forever….
i am free
to live my life
as i please
with my only limits being
my sufficient income….
yes, i am
one of those people
(annoying?)
who asks,
with neither….
a hamster wheel
would at least
give me exercise.
i gain nothing
from my….
how helpful
for my mind
to notice
all the flaws
(so many flaws)….
this morning,
this setting
deserves the touch
of a true poet.
instead….
walking up
the down escalator
is where my mind goes
when i feel
like i’ve not done enough….
i don’t dream
about my ex-wife
too often.
like all my dreams,
they have nothing to do….
adjusting
on the fly
to a life
(mine)
that seems….
outside my window,
the neighbor’s AC unit
runs day and night,
a low hum topped
by a metal whir….
being human
is tough;
no secret that.
we each feel,
i think….
the road to hell and all that;
i know. but,
before i can stand up
and move through this world
doing the things that matter to me….
as a good human being,
i’ve gotten my life all wrong.
human beings have gotten
almost everything wrong
since becoming civilized farmers….
my own private fantasy land
is the one place i long for.
this real world, so-called,
has only one promise i can depend on,
and certain death is the worst possible of selling points.
