I think of it all,
Like the still,
Endless
Days in Colorado,
Partly cloudy
Days
Back in Indiana
Walking around the
County City Building
With a fat Mexican
Practically
Screaming at me,
There’s nothing here for you,
Your very existence, and slightest manifestation of strife,
Is predicated on intricate paradigms of transgression
Constructed by the most beautiful country in the world
Where my computer couldn’t seem to hum loud enough…
I think of all the torture,
All the paintings,
Wanting to gore out
Every corpuscle in my pancreas
And examine for one single cell meiosis
Which might have enjoyed Nickelback or Korn,
I think of the next petulant homeless person
I’ll see on the street,
Unavoidably, and I think of
Their expedited certainty.