I Just Don’t Care

about anything, anymore . . .

Image by Alexa from Pixabay

No doubt, we cared too much
about flim-flam nonsense.
We were so fresh . . .
forever and a day
and those moonlit midnights
torturing our ethics.

Overextended, overwrought.

As if grievous wrongs
could be set right
if we kept howling into
our righteous cerulean vortex.

That Año Nuevo sea lion molt
is stinking to high heaven
along the California Coast
on fresh pewter afternoons.
Website calls it breathtaking
and yes . . . it certainly is.

It’s taken all winter
to molt off this buffoonishness
that’s still yearning
for life to turn out okay.

Letting it be okay
for life to not be okay.

Before my sense of humor
got pummeled on the rails
of a despotic freight train
torching a six-mile rampage
through the meddle of my soul.