Poem 3/3/2016

i am afraid not of death but the sort of half life
which a reactionary produces in his throws
of seeing everything and doing nothing
of doing ten things out of a hundred and doing
ten things wrong wrong wrong

within one hundred armsbreadths
call it a quarter kilometer
there are those whom I would not know ever in life
there are catlovers and a psycho or two and me
and warmth that scares me into complaisance

i love the people, but i'm scared
i'm scared mostly to be myself
to be in the far corner in the quiet while
the world passes me by
has the world ever passed you?

i like sex, but i don't want it
i like booze, but i don't crave it
i like man, but but but

What is it to be alive anymore?
To not want anybody
to not want to accrue gold or power
but then what
what what what do you want why do you do?

I'm not at the end of my rope
I'll do anything in peace
But I wish I had a listener
Or a God a real God looking down
Saying hi I was waiting I thought you would