With me, you can lie across the couch with your feet up, eating cashews,
staring into space, not saying anything.
With me, you can pretend the sky is the sea.
With me, you can contemplate the lack of answers in life, the imperfection, the corruption, the strife.
With me, you can do nothing, because everyone else is doing too much.
With me, you can hate all humankind, their constant interference, their essential irrelevance.
With me, you can be nice and fool them all.
With me, you can do what others want, be almost invisible to them, then cash out.
I will do the same.
With me, you can laugh, as we take the blame.
“Sure, whatever you say, Mr. Uptight.”
With me, you can turn off the light, read TV poems aloud at midnight.
With me, the past remains,
dark sometimes, or sometimes it rains.