22

no wrappings or explanations or what not, too late for that...and to apologize

(85)
God,
I remember
those old poems
that I wrote last semester--
these innocent little musings
semifiction
that used funny language
and did not really
mean anything.

And now
I look back at what I've written
in these past few weeks
and all I can see is
an opinionated teenager
who will continue
to eye somewhat longingly
the next attractive girl
that he will never speak to
who will fall behind
in yet another book assigned
and go to yet another class
unprepared to speak.

This boy
who's barely still a boy anymore
is not making a mark anywhere
that is of any importance
and that bothers me.


(86)
I'm a horrible
fiction writer
because I write
what I want to happen
rather than what I want to read.

And because of this
I am not enough of a sadist
to portray the realism
preached by famous dead writers
and soap operas.

Right now
in the novel
that I've started,
I realized
that I have nothing new to say.

So it goes on the shelf,
and maybe I will return to it
with the next bit of plot
stolen from a dream
or the reflection in your eyes
as you bend down to pick up something you've dropped.

Or not,
because it could be blocked.
Plenty of ideas
have died on the page before.


(87)
Woke up on 2/22
at 2:22
and started another
privileged
but unappreciated day.

In the past twelve hours
I remembered
that I hate it
when people won't stop jokes that have gone too far,
or when a professor asks a question about something I haven't read.

But also
that the best feelings of accomplishment
come from physical exertion
and not from the movements of these poor fat fingers
over the keys

typing.


(88)
He's burning
the last pages
of his treatises
in some institution somewhere.

No one ever read them
and now his children
have sent him off
to this nursing facility

so when he puts in the very end
and looks back on his life unlived
and how very little he has to show for it
he is inspired

to join his words
in their hell.

But instead,
he pulls out his pipe

loads it,
and takes a long hit.

So it goes.