This is for you, my dear
who in that year
could have filled your
umeployment forms out
in ancient greek
or very poetic French.
It was frustrating to watch you
write letter after letter
seeking work
when you had enough work
(filled the rest of your days).
What really were you after
but a little money to get by on?
You told me then, and I hear you now, say the future has no hold on us,
we're too close to the present, and we gain nothing from desire,
however enticing, without this god damn struggle just to stay alive,
to create.
