Everything is Broken and Nothing Works: Updates at Times
Within each of us is a world. It is not
the world, but it is our world. Our own alone.
And the world is not complete without an ocean
flowing up and out and over all the
edifices of our life’s history that we have watched
rise out of the choices we didn’t realize we had made.
There are men in the crawlspace again.
I like to imagine them happy there in the dark
as if they are nesting and staying warm.
And not the hungry hands lurking below
digging through the dirt looking for gold.
The time is 8 o’clock am and Amy Klobucher
is the first one sitting in a booth at the restaurant.
She is waiting for you.
The plan is not to meet until noon
for lunch.
When I imagine retirement,
I imagine lying in a pod,
eyes closed, atrophied,
plugged into a machine
that fires the electricity of the latest Star Wars
across what’s left of my demented psyche.
“They’re all f****** phonies!” Holden screamed at the recommended YouTube channels.
Breathe, eat, watch the NFL draft.
Game of Thrones isn’t on tonight
and the fridge is out of beer.
Amazon paid -1% on taxes this year.
My arm is wiggling again.
There is a man across the year.
He builds and repairs a house, but no one ever lives in it.
I want to live in a time, in a place, in a tree root.
Slurping up tapeworms and drinking solids.
Swallowing every slimy thing whole that slides across my tongue
and into my contentment.
The weather sure is beautiful today.
Let’s open a window. Let the air in.
Shame it’s unseasonal. Shame it’s global warming.
Nice temperature though for our global mourning.
The thermometer beeps cruelly.
98.9 degrees fahrenheit.
The threshold has been crossed.
I have been struck down in the bloom of my late youth.
Every day, I scatter myself across the feelings of the hundreds
That line my feed, story, and favorite websites.
I sink into their lives and their frustration and their joy.
I dwell between hot deals and breaking news.
And I scroll.
And scroll.
And scroll.
And scroll.
Written in 2017
New Year, New Era
Where in all these stars
Will you plant your soul?
Where will you take nourishment?
Where will you learn to grow?