Que Sera Sera

The rug is stained again

soiled by my

inability to behave like a

civilized

human being in that

clean washed powdered kissed all over middle class

way.

It smells wretched, but I try to cover it up

with Carpet Fresh and

baking soda, but the smell

always comes through,

burning a hole through my

nose,

all the pride melting away

while I watch it

gasp for its final

breaths.

When it dies,

I die as well.

But,

tonight, the birds will still sing like

Shakespeare,

the snow will fall so softly,

and the lights of tv will shine

lovely and

familiar, like a mother,

the Zen of the candles and the

music of the

night,

the nuttiness of the coffee, and

the flickering of the

fire,

they are all

transient in time

miraculous in beauty

and false in their

serenity.

As my lips pulsate from

the fire within and I smile in

pleasure,

there is the constant knowledge of

Truth,

that all tomorrow

shall bring is

disappointment

resentment

and

disastrous morality.

Que sera

sera.