God knows how many prior years,
And your hair, love, and small pocket change:
There is no truth that quick,
No deeds that tear nothing fist-still.
The evil has been wiped up;
She left me and
Dry, relative notions
Gave everything back in spades;
Therefore, this poem referees life.
Smile, Lora, start ironing,
Feed me metal filings:
I will cast them into whatever passes for pencil lead
And watch the weaseling across the page.
Have you damaged your body?
Have you tried to hypnotize yourself?
Have you implanted yourself?
Have you tried to destroy your mind?
Have you inflicted pain on yourself?
Have you tried to wipe out your personality?
Have you become addicted to drugs or alcohol?
Have you felt that the world or others would be better off without you?
Have you tried to extinguish yourself?
Have you made nothing?
Hold these thoughts like axes and mope:
It is all ridiculousness;
You will wait forever for this moment to happen again,
But by then the sun will have gone all the way down.
~ Carl James Grindley: East Haven, Connecticut | The Brooklyner
