You ask me what I feel & think
(because the two are distinctly their own)
about the utter absurdity
& pointlessness of life

& out the windows cars go by
& up in space meteors fly
& sitting in this vinyl booth is me;
not alive long enough to know,
but who was seen many injustices--
yet knowing not a thing to do about them,
looks to those next to me,
who have only seen worse.

I do not know why the universe keeps expanding
or why my professor gives Monday exams
or why my poems are all the same
or why people in my life keep leaving
(or why I keep pushing them out?)--
messages marked "read" with no
response or
rhyme
or reason or
rationality.

Maybe the point is that
there is no point

Some people
promise unity, but the
                                next day they are just different                people  *
              wanting different things, thrown back     *into
             the world like the unwanted      fish,
                                   hook still buried                           *deep

& then it begins;
the first moment,
the second moment,
the first & second
series of moments
where there is beauty
outside of you
& it is so very unreal
that even the sun
seems to shine brighter
in places where you
are not.