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