mamma says i am mindless as i unintentionally
clutch a cart that's not ours at the grocery store
this is true: my mind is everywhere
but the right here, the right now

she gives me $10 folded neatly to
hand to the apparently homeless
hijab-wearing lady camped by the carts

this is unlike her, not that she is heartless but
that hoover's ideal of rugged individualism resonates
strongly in her bones because she never got handouts
in the land of opportunity

still, her eyes are soft and urgent

i walk with apprehension and anxiety
prickling red-hot at the nape of neck
trading my own cart for the quarter
it swallowed as deposit

i hand her the folded bill
her sign, paraphrased, beseeches shoppers
in bold black strokes to spare money for her
and her two children, because she is
struggling to make ends meet

and with honest eyes and the smile of a person
worn down by suffering to only the hope
safeguarded in their soul
she asked that god bless me

that god...bless...me...
and i think silently to myself
what a pretty sentiment but
god affords no amnesty to animals
no, animal would be too kind a
descriptor for someone whose
depravity transcends the slavering
maw of a beast, who sings sin like lullabies
who eats, toils, *****, sleeps, eat. toil. ****. sleep.
subject to the primal algorithm that governs all
(and who are we to question it?)
cyclic, chronic, certain, this is the hill we climb,
the lackluster boulder we shove over and over

uvalde shooting, ukraine war, uiyghur genocide
i imagine the pacific, aided by polar snowmelt,
reclaiming tuvalu for itself
i imagine bodies overtaken by plague
spilling haphazardly from the
morgues of new york city
i imagine streets shrouded in tear gas and
littered with rubber bullets punctuated by
cries of "rest in power"
there is no purpose to parse from parsimony

even now, i try and say what is on my mind
in as few words as possible
as if with their utterance, i come closer to the grand reveal, the cutting of the ribbon, the fraudulent reality of joshua peter put on display for the world to pick apart and devour

i don’t think my friends understand that
i feel less than human in their presence
because since childhood, i knew if nothing else, i was endowed with mediocrity as my birthright

i implore those i love to leave, stop reaching out
if conversing with me ever becomes a chore
i ask in earnest because the last thing
i want to be is a burden, an outstanding box to tick on a checklist
i ask but i fear their response

it’s okay, no really, it is! i understand!
you don’t have to acknowledge me
i know sometimes i get a little caught up
in the irony, the asyndeton, the metaphors and similes i wear religiously like foundation…
this self-aware narcissist knows that the
optimism in his coffers is draining faster than can be replenished by a loveless world
the law of the new world order is nihilistic globalization, yet he is
nothing without his -isms and his -izations
and his holier-than-thou judgement

is it not a sin to bring a child into a world that will never love them as they love it?
this heartbreak…shall not pass like the rest

i plug every crack and orifice in the façade with splendid disaster:
college apps, some new recipe, a half-finished composition that’s been on my desktop for four years, calculus and physics, oh! a new hobby, anything oh anything to keep me from feeling distrac–

*rajiv surendra tells me that making my bed can help depression