Tuesday 9/30/2008 01:20:00 AM

God had the pistol in his hand. He fired, but missed. Ending everything in 'a whimper, not a bang'.

I could love the world. I really could. If it could love even one of us. Who toils to make the things that make others rich.

Life is not a poem. And all the poets are dead. Made useless by mortgages and credit.

The world has no use for things that can't be sold.

And I, little use for it.

Feed me my disease in tired payments. Tell me I'm better while it gets worse. Kittens in the barrel. To drown. Claws out. Scratches everywhere. Drugs. Always with the drugs. To take away the one disease. Discover a dozen new ones.

Buy me. I'm for sale. Save me. I've already taken so much. The world is ended by the old. When there are more old than young. The world isn't ending. Right now. But it's looking in Darwin's direction.

I'm tired of paying for actors and athletes to eat caviar while other's starve.

Dismantle the system. Start over. With new charlatans.


17 MAY 1980
The last day of College
Last day of exams
The last minutes
And I am scribbling the last words
Of my answer.

Last day we saw of each other
From where everything lasted
And faded like the languishing
Fragrance of a passer-by

The Department of English must have been
Cheerily chorusing the farewell creed
While in your frigid face.

I could see the pain of goodbye
Just you and I, and our friends
Leaving as doors where closing for us, forever.

Then, they left
All one by one
Over the years
They left us to be on our own
Drowning us in memories.

They left slowly
And never returned.
Our feelings of 1980 left us forever
Our friends’ s c a t t e r e d here and there
Like the last day in that examination hall
When all the bookworms had left.

You can't throw a piece of tape very far. Transformation is tacky. 'Mobile' gives no sense of direction; 'mobile home' does. He went to the cafeteria before we did, and when he returned he was able to tell us about the future.

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