bad news and other offerings 

I’m still among the living, but wait. it gets worse.

now they tell me the carpet inside my apartment

is not a hand-knotted Persian, and look.

there’s the guy who owes me money.

I should let it go. he looks like he’s in bad shape.

I'll count his teeth to see if I’d win. hey, who knows?

next it’ll be reported that Margaret Keane painted “Guernica”,

or the dreamy theory that the universe dwells in a drop of water

in someone else's universe was bullshit all along.

christ. where am I going?

beneath the wrap even Pharaoh's dust.

but I’ve been thinking: “grab bags” still piss me off.

you pay a dime for a stapled brown paper bag

at Bastino's Variety and find a nickel’s worth of candy in there?

christ. what did I expect?

my oldman’s electric bill to be paid in full?

the panoramic windshield to be around forever?

the zipper of my corduroy pants wouldn't be stuck

in the down position all day without my knowing?

christ. yeah. I should let it go.