1.1.18

a face with
weeping hands
or was it the other
way around?
no matter, point being
i will remember
always
the moment my
mother realized
she was alone
in this world, despite
having a husband
and a sidepiece
and two children
and four sisters
and seven nieces
and nephews
and countless cousins
and a mother still alive
in her nineties;
no matter, point being
she learned
that loneliness can’t
be bought off with
companionship, that
it has just one remedy,
if any at all,
and that’s money.
money can’t buy happiness,
yes, we know this, but
it can buy you things
to distract yourself
long enough
to die. what is the
moral of this miraculous
piece of shit poem? maybe
this is a good one: loneliness
is like diarrhea. perhaps
i’ve never written something
so true.

Written at 10:40 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA.