futile

i found this from 1997 in my pile of things to organize while rumbling around this house trying to keep myself occupied. It is a bit different and i’ve discovered i get a lot less responses to my poems than other posts, but what the hell. It’s me. The actual version has different spacing. The way i wanted it. But i’m still not up to speed on how to fix that with this program. i’ve got some time so maybe i’ll try and fix it.

futile

i do not know why
i try
to talk to them and
make sense
because
they do not listen
because
theyhavemanythingstodoandmovethroughthemjustlikethatmistercummingssothey
have something else to face:
fear.
they love it and
do not listen:
i have given up on form and substance;
even logic does not penetrate
the gelatin mass of hyper life we claim as real
but
i know
sure as the spume of the pacific will flay the sand
and
the dog who frolicked there will die.
it is much simpler than all of that.
yes, mister bluster,
the answer is really quite simple.

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