and he can’t say shit
as much as he speaks
            and puts forth,
it goes unheard
when spitting venom

brain overactive
living in a misery of
            his own creation
waiting until it dies or
            he kills it

refusing pills and therapy
searching for a better
                        way

boiling down the masses
staring down a black hole
playing “look away/peek-a-boo/
                        who blinks first”
            with eternity
a losing battle
he’s all geared up for

sitting in squalor
dollars hollering at him
he just won’t take

it’s an awkward puzzle
a profound ambiguity
shattered glass and
a mirror broken into
a zillion pieces
showing what they spent
10 billion on James Webb
to see

that which he could have
            shown
the whole
time…

just as soon as he gets
up, gets
down,
and learns how to
            tie his shoes.