THIS IS A POEM ABOUT PITS OF SHIT 7.6.17

7.6.17

I envisage throwing myself

into things, the way a child

will hurl itself from ledges

down

stairs

into pits of fire and shattered

glass, for the thrill of surviving.

the amazing thing about children

is they don’t have the equipment yet

to understand

harm.

but we, with decades of experience

at our disposal, cower.

we abuse all sound intellect.

we shield ourselves.

we hide like bastards

behind truths obvious and ripe

for confrontation.

we retreat faster than the sun

at dusk, when the drugs begin to take hold

and the world fades like a handclap.

what ugly lives we lead.

where are the brave among us?

where are our children now?

as this miraculous pit of shit

we are inside of rises

up our legs.

To be fair, we acknowledge

our deficiencies.

But we deal with them

with shrugging shoulders

because the alternative

is difficult

and terrifying.

i feel better now.

though i have done nothing,

i feel better.


Written at 10:28 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA. 

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