Some days aren’t ours
they come and they go
and what are we
we are what is left on the chair
watching and loving
and for what and why…
when we realize our mother
loved us best and that was as good
as we can get. And then then
we think someone else might love
us. We think we’ve found
some magic that the rest
was too dumb to find….that we are
lucky and blessed. Then… then we come
home early and find our cat on the neighbor’s lap
purring. Then we say suck it and we find
our lover in some odd position giving
goo glue eyes at some slender beef
and then… then we leave and walk and walk
and walk until we forget who we think we are
and we stop caring about this life. This life goes
by too short but then, then we don’t want it
it is meaningless. It is pain. We are all there is.
We are not enough. We are not garlic or a sunset.
We are old. We are still stupid. We don’t
like to be alone, still stupid and old
But others can’t be trusted. We can’t stand on their back
to see farther. We can’t make them hold us. We smell.
We are cry babies.
There is no pudding for cry babies.
There are no songs for cowards.
The bath water is cold and the flies are in.
we have sand in our butts. We are freaky
looking wearing blue all the time. We
write. We shit. We pace. We write.
No one reads it because it is lame. It is not
smart. we can not write smart. We try but
everyone tells us told you so.
We say fug off but we hurt and want someone
to tell us we are ok but we are not ok and so
no one will say it and we wouldn’t believe
it and so here we are
and yet we talk politics and paints and pens
is there anymore ale
it doesn’t matter -I’ll have a glass of tap water