unwound

i began walking to the store around 4:30
needed tea and fresh air
the song on my mp3 player is about october
and in real life it is early november
the final notification that your hopes
for a perfect summer
are dead

and im sure a thousand people have written
about grey-blue formless skies
falling leaves and a cold breeze
but i saw it myself
absorbed in texture and color
arrangement and chaos

and im sure a thousand people have written
about the feeling you get
when you unearth some childish wish from the past
that the universe simply ignored
they pile on year after year
the indifference is difficult to accept
but, my friend, its the only universe
i see evidence for

[for you semantic jerks, yes the parts of the universe
that take human form are capable of caring]

on the way home its almost dark
im drinking water that will likely be scarce soon
am i unhappy?
id have to ask my therapist
and he’d probably say thats not his job
i just sink into my senses
and survive a while longer
why am i even typing this?

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