poemetry

2020-2-11

when i sit
in the hoped-for quiet
of my practice,
only two things
disturb that quiet:
the chittering of my anxieties
and the yelling demands
of everything i need to do
to not be a total failure
at everything in life.
other than that,
and the traffic
and the lawnmowers,
and the forced-air heating,
and the endless yammering
of my stressed-out brain,
a victim of millennia
of human evolution
seeking to prolong the misery
of my miserable species,
not to mention my parents
and my ex-wife
and my children
and all the people
what ever done me wrong –
other than that,
i sit in peace and
oh crap i screwed up
that application form, didn’t i
quiet.

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