I’m sure I don’t know
why we’re all sitting, phones in hand,
editing dating profiles,
catering to some unknown future
promised by the law of our land.
I’m sure I don’t know why it matters
whether any of us ever get it,
whether any of it happens
the way the angels foretold,
the rotten chunk angels we bought,
their dirty visions we believed.
I’m sure I don’t care anymore;
I’m watching them float away
with the questions I stopped asking,
the answers I knew,
the law of our land I won’t accept.
But huffing in the corner,
it has to be quiet,
it has to be an inner peace,
because if there’s an end to the stories
we trade which are all the same,
I’m sure I don’t even know.