always filling
and emptying
and refilling
again and again
like gas tanks
to get to our destinations
like bank accounts
depleting from bills and
replenishing from moil
like our bodies
with stress on the weekdays
and relief or excitement
on the weekends
like our hearts
with love in tiny little spaces
like bottles of cleaning products
under our ugly vanities
like barrels of toxic waste
dumping into the sea
like porch swings
on lazy spring afternoons
like pews of worshippers
at Sunday morning mass
like stuffing our bellies
with 99 cent hamburgers
and draining our *****
down the toilets
of the unconcerned
like spit suckers
at the dentist office
like pills of seduction
relieving pain
like centuries of people
and trees exchanging
carbon dioxide for oxygen
...and
it’s hard enough just to breathe
but how lovely is it
to prattle and wail through
wasted time and non-existence
and laugh at our faces hiding
behind troubled masks
because we don’t care
to know who we are
or what we’re doing here
just keep on filling and refilling
our embodiment with a sun
patch of numbing resentment
it’s just easier to wisp
through the willows
than to empirically plod
through the bogs of
self-reliance.