tired tired tired. tired of doing chores. tired of taking out the garbage. tired of the constant movement of the stereo. tired of the rush of the street past the front door. tired of the broken step in front of the porch. tired of the fleas. tired of the heat. tired of the cold. tired of-- tired. tired of always going astray. tired of no direction. tired of the hopelessness of the task. tired of not getting anywhere. tired of not knowing what to do. tired of being able to imagine it but not being able to acheive it. tired of simply not being good enough. tired of not having a teacher. tired of being a student. tired of the same tired old dichotomies. tired of turning things on their asses. that quit working some years ago. everything has turned to rust. god’s only mourn. all that i have caused / to come into creation / has decayed. tired of the vast expanses of freedom with no point of reference. I can write down anything I want to, but so what? Where’s the art? I’m not an artist; I don’t know what I’m doing and no one will tell me what to do furthermore I wouldn’t listen. mostly i’m afraid that if i’m not an artist, i simply won’t be worthy of love. i mean, what good is it just being a normal, boring, peasant human being?