Sad

The poet is sad because the world is sad, this business of being. Acknowledging it is sad. By the lakeside of a fish. Into the rarefied air of a summer morning.The  woman down there hurls abuses at  sadness, calls it a son-of-a-bitch. He didn’t do anything .Just stood on a stool mending the fuse wire.He stood there ,never came down while we remained in the dark. We did whatever we could with our static electricity. We tried to light our bulbs on our bodies. Our cars gave a jolt when you touched them. You may kiss them lovingly but do not touch their smooth surfaces. Electricity made you sad .

The universe is sad, a poem of sadness that gets rejected by indie publishers. Indie publishers pursue dead mules , live camels. The camels laugh at you from the height of their funny necks.  When the camels married mules, the camels danced while the mules sang. The camels praised the mule-song.The mules praised the camel-dance. They were  sad together.

The poet   had been trembling even in infancy. The only rest is to acknowledge and absorb the sadness of being.