Here I’m just floating by.
Jacked up on mozzarella sticks, whiskey, and static electricity.
I stopped there for the time it takes for a German Shepard to consume a Shepard’s pie.
And I waited.
The sun went down as it is want to do.
But here’s the thing.
Ever since I don’t have Vera to Stand By Me.
The sun never came back.
This poem is about my cat. Her nickname was Vera and she liked it when I sang Stand By Me to her. You’d think it might be about my German Shepard. But I don’t have one of those. So you’d be foolish to assume that.
To care, or not
Caring elicits emotion
Emotions arrive in waves
Waves bring turbulence
Upsetting the quo
better for both of us
That I don't care
I decided to see just how important I was to those around me.
So I wandered off.
To see if anyone would come looking for me.
I'm not important.
I get a kick out of asking you questions.
It’s fun to watch you answer them.
Because you want to answer honestly.
And I’m smiling.
Because neither my questions nor your answers, matter.
It’s like asking space how far it goes.
It/you could lie to me.
It’s not like I’m ever going to know the truth.
Well I jacked her up to find that everything’s subjective.
I fingered, felt, and flicked that thing like it was a prime directive.
To get some new perspective I rolled her on her side.
It doesn’t matter where I go I’m still there so there is no where to hide.
Maybe we’re just absurdist I thought as I slid my stick within.
Perhaps it’s all just chaos, and there’s no purpose in the end.
I slowly removed her top and I put myself between her.
We tried a lil here or there and found the grass no greener.
We laughed and cursed and cried a lot because ignorance is bliss.
And as my flaccid self fell out of her I would not be remiss.
To say I pondered the inequities and tried to do my best.
Sweaty, sullen, and utterly disgusted we lied there breast to breast.
I tried **** near everything though now my heart’s departed.
so I’m leaving my Jeep here for now, maybe you can get it started.
In line with the whole
“life is naught but a computer simulation, the matrix is real, there is no spoon” theory.
How do I know that , while I am not special in any meaningful way, I’m not a flawed line of code and you are a patch formulated to correct my supposed flaw in order to support the overall functionability of the software needed to run this particular aspect of the matrix?
So based on this revelation, your sky blue nail polish, and the fact I’m 90% sure I banged your mom in the mop closet of an Arby’s while huffing ammonia fumes. I don’t think we should get married, today.
I take my morning walk.
Through tunnels of bleached trees. Over the remains of names long forgotten by those who promised never to forget them.
I close my eyes.
To check on the multi car pile up of words in the back of my mind. A twisted burning wreckage of things left unsaid, things I’d like to say, and things I wish I didn’t know.
It’s been going on for so long the death toll of ideas is immeasurable.
There’s nothing to do now but listen to their screams.