I spend the day
lamenting & shaking,
quite sad, wasted
for the entire human potential.
I am unable
to face others
who, regardless
of my gracious, delicious nature,
are ridiculous . . .
& in our defense,
there isn’t much to say.
Evolution will surely
give up
on us all.
Yet I am glad about such things
from time to time
as love & triumph
& grizzled distress
& worldly accomplishment
& knowledge comes
from my realization
of the need I have
in the midst of this
to create.
I am Duane, the Good.
My wife’s got muffins.
I walk through the house
scratching & pulling
my scrotum.
Eat those muffins.
& I, distracted by failure,
the matter is the loss
present in my head,
admire her remarkable
beauty in the usual way.
Admit a few flaws:
twisted bones & crushed busloads.
Sprinklings for the shit pile.
Anxiety all night.
44 sawed-off shotgun barrels.
Rising semi-circles of light.
Her ass pressed up against my stomach.
Nose silhouetted behind my closed eyes.
Wind.
Rain down the dark hallway.
This delicious brain.
My Heart’s large, illuminate Mind.
