A Hundred Years Of Work, A Second Junked Poem by RIC BASTASA

sad. i must tell you it is sad
and there is a reason for me, for us, to be sad
on this sad day bringing the saddest news

you work on it a hundred days
it is read, their heads shaking, they could have told you,
you are wasting your time, you could have spent it planting
potatoes, yes potatoes in your backyard,
you emote, this is my life, these are the lines of my life,
authentic, deep, true, sincere, eathly, mundane,
and too divine, God given, Spirited, conscientiously worded
deep from the heart of me, a prayer, my innermost
my heart, my soul, chasm of pure intentions
honest,

they shake their heads of your piece of shit,
junk, scratch, crumple, into the wastebasket of your days.

a hundred years of work, in a second junked, discarded.
they're honest, you're no good salamagan salamander.

think and be quiet. Hmmmmmmmmm...who cares?
whisper this to yourself: om om om i am good, i am good,
i am beautiful. i am great.

consolaton price. consuelo de bobo.
you're ggggggggggggggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreat. amen.