DO SOMETHING
How seriously fucked I was
opened like a cheap paper lotus
in a bowl of tap water.
Slowly. But fast enough to watch
and get the point
and then get on with things.
No need to ponder it.
There’s an ominous pleasure
doing the laundry
or randomly neatening
the meaningless objects
that say too much about you.
Coming back from the 7-11
I wonder how long I can
come back from the 7-11,
or sit in the same chair,
or follow invisible paths
that are just the human
version of a hamster wheel,
knowing full well the answer:
till you die, fucker, till you die.