We’re never feeling nothing. Couldn’t we find the gem In any and all inner conditions If we bothered to look?

To anyone who reads this: What would you understand of me? Eternally tortured? I hope not, for I know secrets That would ensure joy. But I move through subterranean levels, That I might leave no stone– No stone at all– Unturned.

Change the channel. Stop watching this. Stop watching to see how bad it gets. Just change the channel. Change the world. Change yourself. You’re the whole wide world. Did you forget?

I felt it, a little while back– That a part of me is hiding Beneath everything that isn’t fun, Like a child in a tent of blankets, Smiling, laughing, And wondering, Will you find me?

There is a wilderness; I wander it alone. I can’t get you in; The borders are sealed.

Enough is enough. This is not poetry, But the desperation Of a reluctant air passenger. I want to go home, But where is that?

I would believe you If you told me That Terminal 2 at JFK Airport Was in fact some strange purgatory Between Earth and Hell. My, but we are in the funhouse tonight!  

This is controlled chaos. This is no place for Homo sapiens. Just when and how Did we all agree to this? Shhhh, you’re finding fault With a perfect creation again.

So hungry I could cry. We are all this hungry In various ways.

I am not moved. Where is the storm? Rain was predicted. All there is Is cloud.