On the long list of names of goats
yours cannot be found. Surely
it is some kind of etude that prevents us
from achieving our aspirations.
Whether it be the dross of a thousand
or the ineptitude of the men and women
who service the machines
that power the municipal shack.
I cannot fathom the pain you feel
when confronted with your
mediocre performance report.
We are all wraiths pit against forces
we cannot define. Pass me
my anvil and thread.
This work makes me logy.
Your genocidal feelings are inappropriate.
Your face looks like a moon
that has taken all the drugs
and is wandering around the house
looking for more. The coffee table
awaits you like a bed.
Let's lie in bed all day
as clouds float over the earth.
Clouds have nothing to do with pain.
They've never felt a thing.