9 a.m.
and I’m looking for my glasses
so I can look for my house keys.
I give up
sit before the window
Monday
watching all those below
huzzing to battle
rats with their asses
cut off
trying to
“get stuff done”
whatever that means.
My aunt keeps writing me asking
why I don’t write back
asking
why I don’t come and visit.
What is there to write about?
What is there to visit about?
I don’t get it.
I am ashamed of this world.
Truly, madly, lividly.
This cesspool of phoney desire
clinking change
and daily self-deception.
Most days I sit in bed
sucking on a watermelon rind
waiting for something to happen
something REAL to happen
– a fresh smell of lilac
– a child’s squeal of delight
– a fresh breeze
to waff through the window.
Not happening.
Just the always whine of a lawnmower
churning through the manufactured beauty
of the golf course across the street
the hum
of my mind
and those below going about
their busyness
betraying this world
one second at a time.
I’ve had enough of it all.
I guess I should
get out of the house
go visit my aunt
and apologize for not writing
because
I have nothing good to say
and
if you can’t say something nice
you should just
shut your god damn pen up.
