Some nights I think
“what’s the use of it”
console myself with
the thought that somehow
all this shit
sickness, sex and song
does matter
and that I’ll have
a few words cut from
this cardboard life
to show for it.
then the morning
and I read the newspaper
about a man killed
from debris
falling from the heavens,
of 10,000 Bangladeshi’s
now bloated carcasses
courtesy of a monsoon
or
of a child
tossed from an overpass
onto the freeway below.
and it is all I can do
to get
one foot to follow the other
and hide my tears
from a god undeserving
as those silly questions
I ask myself
some nights.
