I freelanced

your face

On a thousand Harpers magazines

I can't write that shitty

poetry crap

About skin

and walls 

  And your uncles gall bladder operation

and how he died

And how you hated him

But you won't say why

And a motorcycle is revving loudly 

In the street

You didn't really hate him

I made that up

So what 

Who cares

We're all trapped 

In the freaking world

How the fuck do you make 

The best of it?

Stop asking stupid questions