The Mezunian

Die Positivität ist das Opium des Volkes, aber der Spott ist das Opium der Verrückten

NO HAY NADA QUE FUNCIONA NO HAY NADA QUE ES CORRECTO HAY EN MÍ UN HUECO QUE NO PUEDO HALLAR NO IMPORTA CUÁNTO INTENTO

Yes, I have the sadness,

‘side my flavorless tea & headache cheese crackers;

but it’s not the sadness I had before,

& that’s what most matters.

That was left on the gray beaches o’ summer chills,

wandering & pretending I was knowing & did science,

when nobody invited me to be taught to grow gills.

I’m still waiting for die Tagssonne

to stretch my seed’s boughs.

& this time the point won’t miss its rows.

Just look @ where the sluggish storms sleep now:

when life gifts you oranges,

Mike’s soft bottles don’t e’en crack skulls beyond sore fringes.

Leave me in stitches—p l e a s e.

but I saw
you, flesh-shelled crab… Please.
Keep scuttling.

Posted in Poetry