What do you want?
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JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
what do you want, Johnny?
want--what do I want?
why do I have to want anything?
don't I have enough?
I have enough crap in my life,
dishes that need to be washed
clothes that need to be folded
a bedroom that hasn't seen the
floor in months, maybe years,
theres bird shit on the floor
and somewhere in this mess
there a joint that's been hiding
from me for months,
in the closet there are stacks
of books, videos, cds, cassettes
and reams of paper--used and
unused,
but what do I want?
enough money to buy more
shit?
to stuff in closets or lose in
the human debris of scattered
remains pretending to be floor
tile,
will the latest electronic toy or car
or house or yacht or Persian rug or
inflatable saline tits bring eternal
smiles and bellies full of laughter?
what about a collection of cleaning
products to wash away the stains of
life and disinfect my soul from the moldy
afterbirth of sins grown into adult habit,
or maybe surgery to suck the fat from
my expanding gut and a hair remedy to
cover the scorched ground of age, what
about a makeover with a chemical peal
and well manicured fingers,
how about a six-figured suit from
Italy tailored to hide my short legs
and give me a slimmer profile or a 22
carat gold ring with fortified bling
to woe the unsuspecting fool into
a con of lies,
and how about a retinue of sycophants
sucking the marrow from my bones
to claim they were there when it all
happened,
what do I want? nothing.
maybe a nap.
J. Masuda © 2005
want--what do I want?
why do I have to want anything?
don't I have enough?
I have enough crap in my life,
dishes that need to be washed
clothes that need to be folded
a bedroom that hasn't seen the
floor in months, maybe years,
theres bird shit on the floor
and somewhere in this mess
there a joint that's been hiding
from me for months,
in the closet there are stacks
of books, videos, cds, cassettes
and reams of paper--used and
unused,
but what do I want?
enough money to buy more
shit?
to stuff in closets or lose in
the human debris of scattered
remains pretending to be floor
tile,
will the latest electronic toy or car
or house or yacht or Persian rug or
inflatable saline tits bring eternal
smiles and bellies full of laughter?
what about a collection of cleaning
products to wash away the stains of
life and disinfect my soul from the moldy
afterbirth of sins grown into adult habit,
or maybe surgery to suck the fat from
my expanding gut and a hair remedy to
cover the scorched ground of age, what
about a makeover with a chemical peal
and well manicured fingers,
how about a six-figured suit from
Italy tailored to hide my short legs
and give me a slimmer profile or a 22
carat gold ring with fortified bling
to woe the unsuspecting fool into
a con of lies,
and how about a retinue of sycophants
sucking the marrow from my bones
to claim they were there when it all
happened,
what do I want? nothing.
maybe a nap.
J. Masuda © 2005