i am tired of the beautifulness of things. the taking note. the kaleidescope: everyone overjoyed and buzzing numbness. i am tired of heat, of light too constant to take, i can’t close my eyes. who cares about worthwhile, about giving your last breath? what about first? what about the dead fish? what about the pond, the ducks, the live-in garbage. i am tired of commentary. of circuits wired to refuse. langauge in bold font. soft hands. natural surroundings that emphasize lack. the visual of water turning in on itself is not to revitalize, it is to remove. as in, this is the place we belong the least. as in, i love you yes so what. in the end, isn’t it me i am choosing? tired of tongues flapping, serve them up. dice up the tongues and smash the teeth, somebody’s got to eat. something has to give. what of sound waves light waves sonic waves cold fusion particles at astonishing speeds atoms named for not knowing, not seeing. saying you love me is like saying we matter more than this we are bigger than this. what of it? i am tired of it. this is not beauty. this is not ugliness. this is not subdued. this is not matter. this is not living up to potential. this is carrying on. silence. this is the atomic bomb.