12.15.17

 

 

It is briefly

That this sadness

Peels away like a

Scab and I think,

This is enough, this,

This room, this quiet,

A guilty aloneness

In a soundless sphere,

The heater cranking

Like a body dragged

Through gravel

To thaw the morning

Cold, and even with

The blinds drawn

Bright day breaks through,

Light like music, a song

Heard in passing about

Distance and a split heart.

Was it better to have not

Been born so as to erase

Even the possibility of

Suffering? Or is this

What we’re meant to

Discover, these silences,

Blotches of time, moments

Between moments, a dog

Barking outside and four

Tires churning down the

Canyon, while I am livid

Because once again I feel

A hunger, and all I do

Is satisfy it, and all I do

Is get fatter and fatter.

 

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Written at 9:05 in the morning, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA.