Hubris.

Sometimes I wonder:
Am I serious?
Do I really sit here and type this crap out?

I was feeling dismal at 12:36
and I was going to write about it.

Then I realized:
nobody cares.

Least of all me.

Emotions are temporary
and usually dependent upon some triviality.

It is 90 degrees in my apartment
and the other night I got too drunk
and I am getting older so the hangovers
come like unwanted guests who stay for a few days
too long.

I watch the cat try to keep cool
by laying in front of the fireplace
or front door.
Dying to find a cool linoleum
or stone slab.

I am too cheap to turn the air conditioning on
because I am tired of trading in my paycheck
for the "basic comforts" of life.

The sun used to nurture us
and now we all run from it,
hiding our heads and faces
in a ghostly white bliss.

My poems don't mean anything.
They are mostly moments
and lies.