Winning hurts the sorting.
My reclusive bored nirvana wins.
We know in our loneliness sorting must be done.
During the high school graduation party lots of couples were on the verge of breaking up.
Only what strikes you from without sins.
All inspiration, all that’s worthwhile comes from within,
That’s how we are lonely and how we win.
We don’t know anything but what’s in here.
Nothing can scare us or induce a tear,
Or make us slip up and fall in love
Except what’s out there. The outside is wrong.
What got in, came in slowly, and didn’t change us.
Siri, play, “Like a Rolling Stone, How does it feel, No direction home, the times
They are a Changing,” then let me sleep.
Give me a poem and I won’t make a peep.
How I realized I’m exactly the same
As that which hates me and wants to change my name.
And the destroyer is going to change
Me for the good. That’s why love isn’t strange
But comforting. It reverses the world and me,
Killing my bored nirvana with friendly company.
Even the most popular must decide, must narrow it down.
Empty cars, and surprisingly warm downtown.
Now I’m going to start over, twenty five years on.
Fall in love, again. By this tree. On this lawn.