Not Himself

 

Some days are better than others.

Someone can’t tell me from another.

Another poor, poverty incarnate client, not my equal but too dumb to be silent

I can’t be bothered and I can’t be smothered

Nor can I be loved or your lover

You can’t be pleased you can’t be sated

You know nothing the likes of which for a second you have waited

The forest for the trees the spoiled entitled sass under the guise of distinguished class

Demographics are destiny, didn’t you know?

Genes are passed down, nothing fails to grow, or show, there’s no secret we can stow

Away, go away, they can’t bring themselves to say, just go away

We’re better off without you; you have nothing, no thing, of value

It’s true

As much as it can be

For you, for them, certainly for me

Long minus the be, I do not

Where is man? If nowhere, what has he got?

Not himself