a solution to an illness of youth

the next time
my nephew
whines

i'm bored

i'll say
to him

develop

a
heart condition
stage 4 cancer
blood disorder

or

catch

a
drug resistant bug
bullet
vehicle in motion

and then
you
sure as shit
won't be
bored
then

or
at least
not for long

why do?

why do i question
that
which has
no answer?

where was i
to choose
criticize
or even
witness
when all came into being?

when i was no one

nothing

until i was

but only for a brief moment

why do i resent
giving back
the gift
loaned
with no
promise
or
guarantee
or
requirement
other
than
giving it back
so
it can be given
to
another?

why do i see
and seek out
the very things
that rob color
and light
when I could see
and seek out
that which is beautiful
and gives delight?

why do i claw
at my soul
already
scabbed and raw?

do i need
for
all to see
and read
my trauma?

but what
if no one
understands?

then the tales
encoded in
the argot of scars
are
wasted
along with the longing
of understanding

why do i feel
lost
afraid
angry
even when
memory
has melted away
like ice in sunlight
the ledger of
wounding?

why do i waste
my time on these
ghosts?

why do any of us?

i guess it's because
we can

for to waste something
precious
is to mock
god

luckiest human ever

food
is thrity seconds
of effort
away
including walking

running
hot water
less than
ten seconds
away

a place
to privately
void
my
bladder and bowels
and

to top it off

whisk away
my excretions
in a rush of
formerly drinkable water

leaving behind
a stink
that is sucked away
by a fan
remotely switched on

like magic

like so many other things
i and
my fellow addicts
take for granted

the horror
of waking up
and finding out
that your so called
struggle to survive
is actually contributing
the largest mass murder
in our species' history
is a sickening jolt

but

it hasn't happened

yet

so, just in case

after the long drive home
let's watch the recorded
shows on the
huge television
while sucking down an
ice cold beer

impending extinction tastes great

fuck 'em all
i won the lottery

who am I kidding?

if you
ever
want to know
pretension

sit in a
fake
clean
irish bar

where
clean
boys
and girls

drink
overpriced
imported
swill

and
go outside
to
smoke

while
you
read
Bukowski

a match made in heaven

high cheeks
nose thin and longish
almost pointed

a mouth
delicate with
teeth playfully dancing
behind a
quick wry smile
smart and beguiling

wide eyes
of a friendly brown
shy yet
direct
softly piercing

surely

some
undeserving
profane
bastard

who will
never understand
the music
of her laugh

or the agony
of her
departing

has her

i pray he finds out
before
it's too late

ignorance is bliss

the dead
are supposed to be
scary
disgusting
something different
than what
he was

he looked
good
young
relaxed
better
than i ever
could remember

i didn't
know what
to do
to say
to feel

so
i didn't
do anything

except stand there

staring
unmoving
numb
to everything

waiting

for what?

i didn't know that either

it's a common thing
that i've noticed
about death

we don't know
shit

and anyone
who says they do
are either
a
fool or
a
liar or
both

but the good news
is
that one day
we will
know
everything

and we won't care

the party

fuck 'em all

i don't need 'em

i've got an internet
connection

broadband, baby

i don't need
anyone else
to publish
me

 i can
share my
genius
wit
wisdom
bullshit

with everyone
because

i
self
publish

genius
ain't it?

except for one
small
detail

a nit, really

while everyone
in the world
with
an internet
connection

can
see me
they
can also
see themselves

and so can
everyone else

the point of the
asshole
who lets who
past the
velvet rope

isn't just to be
an asshole

it's to keep the party
going

everyone hates
the asshole
with the velvet rope

until they're
let through

then they're
so glad
the asshole
is there

how can something be special
if everyone can come
or
everyone can do it?

what you find
is that the only
asshole
that can truly
and always

see
hear
read
appreciate
your genius

is you

alone

inquisition

meow?
a question!

i'm jolted out of
my contemplation
of all things
trivial
and
sublime

what is it, baby?

the cream- colored face pops
up
over the rim
of the tub

rwoar?

sharp fangs gleam
their question
eye slits transformed

into
dark pools

clicks of my tongue
invite the lithe body to
jump up
and strut

lick
paw
nuzzle

the questions continue

answered by more
questions

until
nothing is
left to be
said

with no answers
the figure smoothly
exits

stage right

leaving behind only
a few stray hairs

like we all do

eventually