I traded my old water bottle in
Went from a bright cerulean blue -- deep with feeling
To a stern metallic grey -- sleek, cold, and withholding
All the things I wish I could be
When that vortex of feeling
Takes hold of me
Surrounded by the racket
Of the dawn chorus
All the birds singing their agonies
Through the bright blue day
Their notes suspended in the cold winter light
In that cold winter light suspended
I asked myself for forgiveness
I gave up on writing poems a long time ago...
The world doesn't care about the art
Of the personal tragedy anymore
The planet is dying
And no one gives a shit
We are too isolated
Within our own hierarchies of pain
Most of my friends (me included)
Are worried about finding jobs
(And if not worried about finding jobs,
then worried about finding love,
and if not worried about finding love,
then worried about finding themselves)
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