Worry is a lack of attention

to that which attends to worry

I talk to no one. There is no here. A commitment to loss, an ultimatum to the World. An open hand - every offering: a beggar. Every smile: a sneer. Every morning: a suicide.

I would beg for solace. I would humiliate myself for a day of rest. I would kneel for a crumb.

But rest resists. Resolve wavers. Commencement continues without regard for doves no one asks whether a feather here or a beak askew could foil

anything
Because doves don't matter and neither do you you sycophant, you phony, you pretend person. You self actuated doll. Smile for me. Alone

It's TV static. It's you, there, in the air. Waves. It's you there, in the growl. It's you there in the milk maids and it's you there in the shade.

I'd glare back, I'd make a rude gesture. I'd be Right, and ugly, and proud. I'd be anything but you today, I'd be anything at all.