sleep, shit, shower, shave, sleep
again. in between dream, eat,
talk, fuck, laugh, cry. then,
do it all, do it all over again. this is
the way of things.

maybe, if you are so inclined,
write a poem or
sing a song —
who knows or cares
what you do? eat, drink, watch TV
or listen to the radio. break the routine
whatever way you choose. the world

stopped caring for your actions
a long time ago. you are a pitiable
lump growing older more or less
alone and you are magnificent
in your splendor crowded together
with those more or less like you,
which is everyone. listen up:

there’s a president somewhere who doesn’t
think much about you. a minister
of prison work. a dictator of a lost
continent. in the aggregate you matter,
as an individual — oh well…

now then: a baby is going to be born,
imminently. you could be the example
the baby lives up to, or you could continue
with the shit, shower, shave ordinary life.
up to you, child. old one. conflicted
person. who knows or cares? splendid
as you are, hidden gem — who knows
or cares if you shine?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T