I no longer mind
the laughter of people,
leaves falling,
sun rising—
all is destitution,
squalor,
our dirt-clod--
Earth.

Moons snicker, too
at our moon, which,
sneering at me
becomes dizzy
from its hypocrite
cycle.

Pulling tides,
the way it has
a quarter-century,
my life.

I want you
to die;
I want you all
to die before I do.
Moons, stare on.

I want to steal an abandoned air-
liner for you.

As far as possible,
I will climb toward
your towering grimaces
crashing, directly,
into the ground
without wonderment
or acknowledgment
on this Earth.

Trending topics
of the day
could not take stock of my
demise.
Shallow conversations
sit on barstools
put off
for eternity.
They showed me love
by suggesting
“change”.
I show them
love
is coming back
to earth
and lying with their putrid
bodies
against my will.