How absolutely fraught

How absolutely fraught everything is.
Nothing
I mean— I couldn’t make a strong case for life if you asked me to.
And poetry- fuck. How dare we write it. The little thing.
What bubbling words do we think carry
Why tape wings to flecks why spin a seed to see if it flies? It
mostly doesn’t fly. I’m throwing balls of mud over hedges. This isn’t worth anyone’s time
But what is
if not some stars
because they’re out tonight in Boston and they aren’t always.
and there’s something about my tiredness blurs the light through my eyelashes
and I’m noticing the thickness of the air.
I remember watching a video of Maya Angelou. She cried.
I cried with her. It’s all nothing.
The world doesn’t need us but we need us, and damn a sky’s better
with a few quiet stars.

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