Nothing Matters

Help me understand 
why nothing matters.
Repeatedly, I listen to
a joke that is not funny.

Maybe my ears do not
work. Maybe I am drunk,
too drunk, and my mind,

my poor mind is gone. I
could barely hear my own 

thoughts. In my head
I hear dogs barking and
a tarantula dancing and
time beating backward.

I grow tired of sound. If
a tree falls, I cannot hear
it when I see it drop in
front of me. In my head
an orange sunset swallows 
a burning plane whole.

I hear my heart racing.
I pretend my heart has 
stopped. Believe me
that nothing matters.

When I think back, I 
could never find my
footing. The ground
broke my fall. Above

the sky stood witness
all day and all of the night.

Kicking Stones

I will not go along
the road without kicking 
stones that are in the way.
I kicked one so far that
it was not seen again.
I believe it went up
to the clouds. I think it
put a hole in the sun.
I believe it brought down
a satellite. The others
only exploded right
after I kicked them,
too brittle for this world.

Go Nowhere

If I could anywhere, 
I want to go nowhere.
With these eyes as
my windows, I could
see far and wide. 
I could see inside 
myself. I could hear
everything I have 
ever forgotten. I
can see the truth
which is basically 
nothing depending 
on what you believe.
I can see nowhere.
It is where I want to go.

See the Mountains

I was born where I could not

see the mountains from the

street I grew up from birth to

seven years of age. When I

moved across the border, I

saw rivers, places named after

words I did not understand,

and I saw the mountains from

the street where I lived. I had

to relearn the alphabet, to 

learn the new words, the new 

language I would use to fit in,

to get by, to make a life, a

living in this country. On a

bright early morning I saw 

people who came to this

country like me, people who

worked hard to make a living,

to feed their family, being taken

away by masked goons. I could

see the mountains where I

stood. I wondered if I went there,

if I would be safer than living

in suburban or the urban streets.

My Suits

My suits have not been used for years.

They hang in the closet worn by a man

who was more slender in those times

the suit came off the hangar. My body

has transformed over the years, been

on the operating table, cut into to get

the cancer out to allow me to live one

more decade if the fates will allow. In

this daily existence I have measured 

my steps, counted the minutes, and

worked at a mind-drudging job to pay

the bills, care for my family, and help

those less fortunate than me. My suits 

gather dust, speechless, non-judgmental

in the same place I left them. I would

need to shed twenty, thirty, fifty pounds

to wear them well, to button at least

one button, or maybe two. My ties

have suffered from the same neglect.