I can talk about myself. It’s easy to talk about myself.
Never mind, let’s talk about you. What
do you think about life? How goes it with you?
Have you decided what the purpose of it all is yet?
I asked you back in high school. Have you
trudged through enough experience
to give me a general idea? I am still asking the question,
to anyone and everyone. But
it’s those good old friends, I find,
whose answers interest me the most.
I was there with you during all those
angsty summer nights, when
school was out and we were out of our minds
with boredom and depression. Quick, slick,
wild nights scorched up sporadically to let us know
exactly how stoic the rest of it all really was.
Bonfires shone just bright enough to light the
booze and drugs, inching closer to our fingertips as
we leaned over the railing of legality to temp our curiosity
and emblazon our stupidity just enough to show
what dumb shits we really were,
fresh faced and already asking to be slapped.
your dad sniffed out a new family and
your mom drove off to drown herself in mill pond.
I hung off your arm as you took me to bonfire after bonfire
and we made a bet as to how many guys we could
slosh in one night. Yes, yes,
I was there. You may not remember me, but
But what are you doing now?
What have you decided? What hidden objective
was worth tromping through all that mud and fuck?
Have you reached the other side of this dung yet?
Should I keep my shoes on and close my eyes and
expect to find fulfillment of a delusional promise at the end?
Or is this impulsive vulgarity
just and only what I’m living for?