human1: to some people, this is the best part of the day . . .

(human2 is confused)

h1: 5 o'clock.

(h2 now understands perfectly; Kevin Arnold Facial Shift coupled with Knowing Nod)

h2: yeah, but for others(!)--

h1: it's the worst! so anxious!

h2: yeah, released from our slavery, thrown into freedom, for those of us unwilling to merely perpetuate the dominant practice of post-work recreation only serving to reinforce the status quo, only offering a more comfortable shackle upon our wrist, the pull of the throw pillow... we feel the tension of flux, of who we are trying to become. and our hearts ghosten?

h1: yes.

h2: it's called becoming alienated from our humanity.

i don't know what's right
but i know this wrong

-t's all i've left rubbing
two sticks held in tongs

no fire, no loving
pacing into abysmal

contusions i conjured,
i feel like i fear

damn the fluid wave
crashing the static pier

spacing away the days
until, until, until, until...

some magic moment
prophesied eons ago
as a tucked-in lullaby
promised into hieroglyphics
prayed toward in drought
before magic died
reckoned to death

i guess

i think

i feel

like

people aren't sincere

mostly because

it means

going into battle

without armor.

 

i'd like to,

like, 

have some steel, too,

over my heart

under the gobble

loop

swoop

and pull

--

but i can't find 

the season to hide

with no reason but

'survive'.

entertaining to tears
                       laughing
into unoblivious abyss
                       straining
throat to shreds boring
                       in-
to pillows but i can't unhear
                       my voice
wilting flailing galeful

loving
          anythingeverythinganything
remotely approaching hearts
                                            so intensely aortic
gush and burst astride towering unripe
                                                            frightened
quivering disuse

i would like to look in the mirror,
                                                     smile and unfeel lawyerous
                                                                                                 :who
                                                     is guilty but me                   ?if not                

                                                                                                          me, then community
                                                                                                 ?if not
                                                                                                          community, then me  ?

                                                                                                                                              nihilism,
                      
                                                               too exhaustingly exhausted
    
                                                                                                                                   apathy,

                                                               too pathetically copacetic

 i choose the idols

i choose the gods

come what mayhowwill

 i don'twon'tcan't unme .