scientists tell us that all water
is old water,
that there is no room for originality,
that everything is recycled.
the anguish of Achilles bleeding out
face-down in the Trojan dirt
mingles with that of a stockbroker caught
in the ebb and flow of the markets,
and what I am trying to say is that the tears
navigating south through the canyons on your face
may have once wet the cheeks
of Alexander the Great
for the same reason.
christmas is so much worse as you get older it’s like “what do you want this year?” “a sense of purpose”
"a career" "financial security" "a sex life" "tuition for grad school" "alcohol" "a nap" "socks would be nice"