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Waverly
Poems
Feb 2012
Pess. I'm. Ism.
Things have gotten hard,
and you're just poor
and out of the currency
that'll really make these problems
go away.
But you hope
that maybe you can will certain things
into being,
off the power of the feeling
alone.
Maybe you've got it in you,
to shake somebody's head
so hard
that the brain pops loose
and falls out the skull
into your hands.
Then you could
do some real operating,
really change them.
But you can't,
and that's what keeps you
from getting too ****** up.
Because if you could do all those things,
the only thing stopping you
would be yourself.
And that's pessimism for your ***.
Written by
Waverly
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Quentin Briscoe
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