the sun will not be there

When I begin writing, I ask myself,

"Will it be coherent or will it be

disjointed and vague? –

strung together,

losing sight of any dock to harbor or leave from?"

but I never really can decide until

a great anxiety says to heck with it!

and I fling off my shoe!

and I no longer moor my ship, and I decide

to depart impulsively,

even though the waves are choppy

and the fish aren't biting.

I’ll cast my rod.

I will speak and feel as I know, as one of

my own generation, as I have come to know it.

I will not, with great reluctance in me,

curate poetry, for the sake of

coherency.

It will be understood or not,

like it has always been.

the price of originality is to risk

obscurity.

And I tuck that little thought right in this

to hide it.

but I will remain in obscurity, anyway.

I will stay in the dark before I sell myself

to the prosaic mind,

who demands

and insists

that I remain marketable.

And unlike the creative snobs,

whose works isn’t worth much anyway.

Who collect all the attention,

but lack the admiration.

they are only there because people need something to do.

And because they're paying for the subscription.

Somedays, when I begin, the storms are wild

and no more than a few yards out

my energy and mood subside,

and the sun pops out from behind the clouds,

like the falsely genial kid in school, who is in actuality a bully,

with an energy drink in its hands and

a conniving smile,

as if to say:

"What's up? You alright? You're making me cringe, bro."

it's language so informal, distant but familiar.

so irritatingly and overbearingly familiar.

drawing me in

because inside me is the dog

who barks,

and runs in packs,

always wanting to be favored

among those it shares an arbitrary age with.

When did we start calling each other bro, anyway?

Why does my generation behave like it still relates to

itself,

like it never left adolescence?

I don't know you.

I am separate from you.

I abandoned you.

You will not feed off me,

and depend on me,

like you did long ago.

like a fool drowning,

pushing me down into the water

to save itself,

never thinking of me.

and then it, the sun, peers at me, with its

festering boils,

expecting a reply.

the audacity, you know?

And there is how we should relate to each other:

to solve injustice and undue suffering.

the common good, in pursuit of a good life.

not some arbitrary age cohort they use to control us

and to manipulate.

But that only addresses the clouds illuminated.

that nasty sun remains;

the extroverted force,

of high school jocularity,

who insist in its own way,

not admiring those who create things,

declaring them abnormal,

and that all things have been done beneath it,

and who insists on pestering,

and judging.

93 million miles away from me in my mind,

yet it still burns me.

I roll my eyes as it tells me to sit down,

behave and conform,

even though your head whirls,

and whirls

conform.

conform.

sit still

and choke.

Don't make me look bad.

sweat till your eyes fall out of your head.

the further out I go,

and don't listen

it becomes my mother!

You didn't bring your SPF 400!

You'll bake and burn

in salt and thunder!

waves will go over your head

and then you'll be under!

the superego has thwarted me again!

always checking in on me, I murmur.

and it demands to know what I said, after each murmur.

using my middle name

but I don't listen to it.

Its rays are authoritative.

forceful

but only hot.

it is only an imposing force,

with no muscle—

it cannot stop me.

I continue.

Like an interrogator,

it begs me.

and the medication only makes it brighter.

but I continue.

And although, I hate it,

sometimes,

I love it.

Often out of necessity.

And in triumphant times, when it rises and sets,

because, at least, for those moments

my head is above it.

It makes the world so bright,

they say.

those or they, anyway.

those who insist or have stake in it.

those who have an investment which requires

a force to ward the others away.

but sometimes the world cannot be bribed with sunshine.

Sometimes it's best understood when dark.

And when a small mouth,

which no one pays attention to,

isolates and produces

something it feels to be profound

and not well understood,

not truly understood, but superficially anyhow,

it is perceived as an unholy, unwarranted pretension;

a threat to investment;

a bad return.

but I'll be honest:

That -- what's up? You alright?

which the sun utters.

stops me dead in my tracks,

almost every time.

and when I respond to it so hastily,

I know I only beg for attention.

Like a dog that hasn't seen its owner in a long while.

and so, it was disingenuous to begin with and

I moor my ship and wait for another day

to depart.

And then I remember:

the moon is a better friend.

but it hangs above the world when it is its scariest;

the loneliest.

but if you go out into it,

the sun will not be there.

It will only be you

and what you can see around you.

And so, I plead to the moon:

I have never been fully coherent.

and my generation doesn't love the expression

of words, but instead their bluntness and there

ability to tear the exterior off a reality they

feel entitled to.

And I don't blame them.

I feel entitled to it, too.

everything is older than me but still, I assume.

just give me a reason to trust it as true,

is what I plead to the older generations.

I think my generation, more than any other,

is owed an explanation, which the previous cannot supply.

We are like kids navigating small rafts in the ocean and

expected to act and not understand,

never question.

Allow only the rich and privileged among you to

understand what has been passed down. let only they

inherit the understanding.

And the small ones among you,

just drown if you have to--

but don't question.

so many wars and trifles are started when the small

ones begin to question and

seek to understand.

And that is why we stay dependent,

never fearing prolonged adolescence.

And in these thoughts, so troubling,

I depart

at night

from the dock.

But this time with a lantern.