Malaise Sandwich

Stupid and meaningless everything 

Figure your fucking life out already. 

Clock’s ticking 

Without regard to your stupid fucking feelings. 

It just goes and goes and goes 

And occasionally will laugh at you 

If you try to make any sudden moves 

Without first consulting the i-ching

Or some dusty ouiji board 

Or the tarot deck.

Maybe existence does precede essence. 

Maybe essence is just a word 

Perfumeries use to sell their shit. 

And the second you realize this 

You can’t help but laugh too.

For there is literally no point to anything 

Except the fleeting observation of a passing cumulus cloud 

Or the stretch of light through a window 

Or a dogwood tree in full bloom. 

What if you died crossing the street? 

Would you have found a way to smile 

Before stepping into the crosswalk? 

Or would you have died as you lived? 

Caught in some tired malaise,

Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming 

Of some remotely better life 

You have no clue how to create?


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