The worst thing happened today and
it reminded of that which I always knew but

I forgot: economy is essence
bound and wrought every bullshit day

of cleaning the cat hair off the ceiling fan and
rewashing the dishes and vacuuming--

God, how much we've sucked up so calculated
and unintentional and sadly.

I don't know where this is going.

I remember, so long ago, I said the same thing but
meant something else.

Some of us can move in with our parents and some
will die on the streets. I've already tried the former;

why not the last?

---

I thought about ending it there amidst the questions and
cold retrospection. I thought I might

end it here

but it has yet to stop

like a poem
like a novel
about a man
who becomes a god
and kills himself
with it.

---

The Buddhist in me says accept the inevitability
of change but I gave it to the fallen already.

They accepted it.

The Red in me says this happens, this happens
and you

you fucking fool, you

you should've known better than this.
Some might have called you a class traitor.
Others would call you a man.

---

Life is too much for metaphors and trickery
or not enough for me. Fuck literature, fuck

Poetry, poetry,

Poetry! I've tried so much
to mask my pollution with these things

these beasts
these whores
these rats

Gusanos
Traitors
Fuck-alls, be-alls
masturbatory madmen
pompous academic gag reflexors, no!

I'm done. Fuck it. I'm done.

I can't even hide

this thing.

Recreate the machine

That was a very interesting little suite. I hope you aren't saying you're actually done, but that is too much of a surface reading for me to really buy into that. I have to say, you completely one-upped me. You grabbed banality by the balls here. I like it. I quite liked your use of a suite form.

I have to say, you completely one-upped me.

Not my intention, of course.

i love the style. reminds me of a rambling madman.

How my work comes to light is not so far from the truth!

I'm done too, going out as a badass.

Good luck with that.