A poem.
i’ll have the news on to catch the top stories
but after a few minutes it’s purposeless –
they’re all the same bullet points from yesterday
through a perspection of passing time:
some people died
and one famous about to;
displaced persons from a camp removal;
one’s a terrorist about to be tried;
another one biding to be penalized;
global warming at an all-time high;
random attacks on the rise;
car pile-up on the ninety-nine…
by then all i feel is empty inside:
it sounds like a Saturday night of gaming
than a generation’s place in humankind.
i put a CD i’ve heard a thousand times in the drive
that doesn’t come standard with new models of that type,
because i’d rather hear Morrissey whine
than to face my own materiality of being alive.
when my world ends,
i don’t want it to be from a shot to the head
or an environment that kills me in earnestness
or even just peacefully laying in bed:
theory of a daskeman 