by Eidolon


come to think of it maybe I was just an unhappy teenage boy

in San Francisco

being led by my overlarge lawyer’s briefcase over the foggy hills

from home to school to home

getting a nine-to-five job at the stationery store on Polk street

the old gay owners smelling of soap

not paying enough for my degree in finance

where I sat in a dark room at a computer all day

counting numbers for capitalists


now that I am almost beyond hope

I walk down the hill in Cambodia

hopefulness babbling its empty cacaphonies behind me,

to the shore where the waves hiss their hopelessness

all the way to Thailand.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Scroll to top