The future doesn’t exist
only the moment exists, and the moment
is the moment of despair that the future does not exist.
There are no hopes.
There are only desires and deepest of those
the desire to have hopes.
I ride the bus back from town
having achieved a slight melancholy
and bought things I did not need
when I ‘should have been saving’
for the future I do not have.
Love once tore my head open
and everything inside fell on the ground.
Now, I feel no love.
And my head remains empty.
such is time’s slow dripping
and the cloud moves toward the horizon.
Should I be angry? No.
Should I want?
Should faint red lines iterate upon the past and build to a revolution where hope is reborn as weak as it ever has been that we could one day find a place among things