Too much to ask,
This “not hurt” business;
The pain sort of reaching into the gut,
Through the back,
And up into the head
Where the head has some pressure
Of its own.
Like that basketball
Your coach blew up too tight.
As it would spring up off the floor,
You could see the skin cracking–
And the ball had this feel
Of muted explosion.
Today gets to suck and I don’t know why.
Should try to remember all the good things:
All the rainbows
Or at least poppy fields.
All the times I could have said “Yes!” I believe….”
This side of the grave
There’s a little less
institutions–knowing how to reach into every gut
And up to the head
(it’s all worthwhile
i always thought it
level playing fields are for
pussies and pineapples and placating paradigms
practicing perfect pontification
maybe today will be good!
maybe it’s the waking that sucked:
maybe i just need to learn to smile
at the audacity of hell;
at the fact that i wanted to be here,
and you’re there.
maybe i just need to get going.
maybe i need to shut up and find my feet,
or shut down and find tomorrow–quickly!
maybe i need to thank the hurt….kiss the hurt….make love to the hurt:
because being alive
at least perseverance always thought so
on a different day–
look at my hands:
they never bleed.