there still

i wake up

each morning

and think

what poem

am i going to ooze

today

and then i fall back

asleep on my desk

with slobber

working well

*

so few people

have the courage

to not be people

anymore

and too many

watch themselves

fade in moments

of joy

and boredom spent

awaiting

the good death

where dear criminals

can take something

worth taking

and sell it

for something worth

more

*

it isn’t how

good it’ll be

because everyone wants

happiness and peace and sleep

but how bad it is

and can be

to get there

after doing what

no one could otherwise

do

like sadness and war and wakefulness

that brings more sadness and war

and maybe

you’re not sure

you can only see

what you can see

with eyes crusted with tears and blood,

a bit of it

there

away

but there still