I'm a bag of meat that holds pains & lusts & thoughts.
These sharp things stab me & I leak tears or c** or words.
(The thoughts think they're the bag. I don't think they are.)
That's all I am, this flesh sack, that's all I do,
I yearn & grab & yak. I've seen that black hole photo
& I said Wow, I get cosmic awe, but that puncture wound
in the fabric of space & the Crab Nebula & Jupiter
they don't know or care that I exist. A few people care,
especially me, but when it stops being true
I'll stop caring. Some people think there's more to life than life,
some realer realm where the figures add up, justice is done,
& we can be kids watching angel cartoons while a loving dad takes care of us.
Some people--maybe you're one of them--believe going from life to death
is like walking from one room to another,
not like stepping thru a door into a bottomless void.
Not me. I'm scared of that door, man,
I'm not ready to leave the party.
Maybe one of these women I'm talking to
will want to s*** my d*** later. Of course I'll l*** her p****,
any justice in the universe we gotta make--you wanna get,
you have to give. But even if not, there's some people here
brought their guitars & their voices, & they aren't all musical
but they're having fun, & the wine ain't fancy
but it does the job, & there's nothing outside but black blank sky, let's
tell another joke & keep this shindig roaring,
let's not say goodnight,
let's never say goodnight.
-- Sturgis Giteau
4 26 2019