The Continual Condition

there is nothing quite like
the arrogance of a
beginning writer
unless it is the conceit
of
a successful
one.

I’m going to hell
so fast
you’d never believe
it.

dear reader,
do you know something?
those who keep asking the same question
really don’t want to hear the answer

I don’t like us and I never did—is there anything worse
than a creature who lives only to write
poetry

to laugh truly is to continue anyhow.

I will be running down the hall of your granite heart
for years

she said to me, “you weren’t
very nice
to those people
last night.”

I find solace
in a common
function:
something
at last
to put
to
paper.

now it’s computers and more computers
and soon everybody will have one,
3-year-olds will have computers
and everybody will know everything
about everybody else
long before they meet them
and so they won’t want to meet them.
nobody will want to meet anybody
else ever again
and everybody will be
a recluse
like I am now.

I see this final storm as nothing serious in the eyes of
the world,
there are more important things to worry about and to
consider.
I see this final storm as nothing special in the eyes of
the world
and it isn’t special.
other storms have been greater, more dramatic.
I see this final storm approaching and
my mind waits.
I see this final storm as nothing serious in the eyes of
the world.
the world and I seldom agree on most
matters.
but now we can agree.
bring it on, bring it on.
I have waited too long now.