OF THIS WORLD

i feigned
caring too little
when i cared too
much; i feared breaking
down in sobs
when the world was
simply too very

much. older
now i find myself
pretending to care;
and though crying

might be appropriate
i find few tears left
there; it’s as if
as i grew
into the world i tried
to uncover what
it was about, and now

i find myself
detaching from this
question: alas, with wonder
intact, i am beginning
to grow out.

HONEST

let me be
honest: drinking

isn't the end-
all, be-
all, but

it helps create

a lull between
judgment and torment --
three beers and
nobody cares

what you meant, or whether

the money
or the dreams are
already spent.

A POEM FOR GENX

paralysis is a convulsive
word. too many

syllables and hard
to say. fro-

zen would be
better. we simply

stopped

moving
a long time ago.

and another thing
about you and me:

we are
hilarious.

we pretend
there is

any such thing
as a country or a generation.

carry on,
my wayward

brethren. we have more faux
work to be
done.