Clouds Drift, and Then...

The crumpled blanket of our sky
is my hesitance for waking up
unless I need to; like everyone
I prefer the warm idleness of a world
at the mercy of my imagination.
The impermanence of clouds
lands my feet on the floor, then
everything happens.

January 2021

The inefficiency of human life

What's lost in the cartilage of the Earth
--seems inefficient, he noticed: old people die
with heads full of knowledge, while young
people must learn it all for themselves.
Are we stuck in some kind of cycle?
Shit, maybe.  But it wasn't ever about
knowing, as such, right--that's why
the internet isn't just an encyclopedia.
Doesn't satisfy him, but man, sometimes
I don't care anymore if it does or not.
Except then Oliver will rage about nothing
and I recall being obstinate, hateful, &
I know my father learned to respond to me;
as I must now haltingly learn to respond,
even though these kids must be easier,
and I agree this is pretty inefficient.

January 2021

Oh. Was that it?
The whole digit 
on a series of calendars, now trash,
ticking forward at midnight—
am I onstage now? Well.
“Here are the things I have 
prepared,” but fumbling
through my bag, I cannot find,
“wait a second,”
I must have left them.
At home, or maybe
on a bench somewhere
back when we did
things outside.
“I’ll tell you a story, then—“
and that’s how you’ll learn
how little I have to tell
for an entire year gone.

January 2021