What Do You Do
Sleep eludes me
Women, kids, money, dreams, problems
Cycle in and out
Numb to the present
I can't do anything about
Run from here to there
Every place becomes intolerable
Where will I rest my head
When there's no there there
And I'm stuck
Well I'm not. It's just
Birds bless this morning
With sweet song
All I want to listen too
River roaring softly
Grass growing silently
Under goose turds
Unavoidable but not intolerable
Life's littered with them
Thoughts fly higher, please
What do you do
Write another f___g poem
About a swollen river
And the full throated song
Of the universe
I'm hard of hearing
Lately
Try as I might
I can't make it sing
The torment away
It could, it can
It doesn't
Just poops on the lawn
If everyone would just stop
Sh____ing everywhere
Morpheus could massage my mind
With delicious dreams
To melt the edges off
Jagged shards
Of our own broken souls
That no matter when, where, why, or how
We broke. Not war. Not hell. Not the universe.
We broke ourselves, and keep cutting our hearts
On the serrated, spikey, pokey, pointy, sharp
Front we put up for protection
What do you f____g do
Plead with the GD Universe to f___g heal your soul
Find some f___ing therapy
So birds can bless you in the morning
So you can hear
The soft roaring river
Through your open window
And you can listen
To the full throated f___g song of the universe
That's what you do
Copyright © Steven Young | Year Posted 2022
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