he walks in

he walks in and says –

“Hi

I ‘ve got a sore butt from biking

I love you – keep writng

I am watching a dumb movie

bye”

And so I get up and drink a porter

and smoke a stick and ask while

he dies, does he think he’ll pray for life

after death

 

 

and his answer is

a strong and sturdy

“no”

a handful of dirt

All week I have had that old wondering

where I sigh and look off and try to make sense

of the world.

 

When I take a handful of dirt and rub it

 in my hands and stand tiptoes and look

up, look in, look around

 

Some ideologies

 are beautiful and soothing but

they don’t help a body come

to grips with the uncertainty

 

Some days it is very

hard to grip a thing

 

 

Today they put violets

on top of your dead body.

I kicked them off

 

Don’t block the dead, I said

but they didn’t hear me. 

They were going to get coffee.

 

 I stayed in the wind and rain

and wondered and wondered

until I was too wet to wonder

 so I wandered into a bar

and had a glass of fuck it all

 

There was a man back from a war

who stared at my eyelids and said,

“don’t be sad” and I said,

I am not here to change anything, so you can smile

at the daisy’s heads popping up but I am

going to sit here and be sad and drink and think

dark thoughts about the pointlessness of it all

then I am going to go home and start tomorrow, tomorrow

as long as the sun gets up,

 

I will too but for right now, right now

 there is a coffin to carry and bury,  getting wet in the rain  

and the war hero said, “Don’t be so sad.”