the-frustrating-moment

The frustrating moment
is having things-to-say hide
just out of reach
behind this big gray amorphous blob that i call DOUBT
and feeling-full-of-shit
and apologizing-constantly
even though your brain is BURSTING with HARD TRUTHS
that the world Begs to hear
and to see
and to touch and taste and squeeze

You’re almost there
you’ve done the work
the thoughts are alive, and that’s farther than most explorers ever get
but suddenly you grab a pen and your mind fills up with
wars and conspiracies and market crashes
and jen and death and taxes and peanuts
and unions and code and life and work
and you’ll just never make it back to anything that’s worth anything
while you’re stuck with the task of deciphering all this meaningless nonsense
and most of the people with the superpowers have sold their souls into advertising and enslavement
and the rest have chosen to obsess with computers because they’re the only thing that listens

so who’s up to working with the world as it is?
i know i’m not, i’m stuck here whining about it

i wish i had a filter for all this
because the litterbox is starting to stink

all you are is ears and edits
and years and a brain
and sobriety on a good day
and by time you get back there
what the fuck is ever left