Prelude & Karma

Why is it that at night
I am more able to write
than during the day
when I am awake?
Well, thank goodness for flashlights.
what time is it anyway?
5 a.m.
(1 month away from my 25th birthday)

I don't care
nothing matters
we are nothing
and everything
but today we are nothing
(at this point
the folio I carry falls)
(it burst open spews
paper everywhere)
crap (scramble to
pick up papers now
wet from rain-puddles
worthless than trash)
Darn you, Karma.

Dedicated to Jack Kerouac, my first desolation angel.