Happiness is the delusion of reprieve.
So says my pathogen soup.
The etiology of a buttered handshake.
Toast. I wish I could live at the same time.
You never have what you know until you know nothing.
The body breaks under the anticipatory anxiety.
The bread is broken.
You did not purchase the extended warranty.
This getting older a wish each grass shaft
was a straw through which to suck the sweet juice of perdition.
Time to nurture your inner shrub time.
To hang onto your underwater bookshelf.
Is there anything really to believe in
or merely the feeling one must believe in something?
Squeak goes the couch.
Ashtray flavored coffee break.
The no meaning, no meaninglessness tantrum.
The problem is.
An unfelt apology is like
litter being thrown on the sidewalk.
If I could just distract your attention for a silence.
I could paint you psychic portraits.
The problem is-lessness.
The fugitive child.
The kinky faith of my wife.
This micrometer calibrated for confusion.
Let ‘em go! the foreman screams.
Happiness is a delusion of reprieve.