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Waiting

I am sick of this runny nose and sick of nothing to do so I do nothing while waiting to go home to wait in the orange armchair where this morning I decided it would be a good night to clean the kitchen floor rather than wait for it to clean itself but now I think I'll just move my books from the upstairs bookshelf to the one downstairs so I can stare at all those names gone insane and dead from their honesty and drink my heart intoxicated to have a date on Friday night with a complete stranger who likes my poems and wonder what personality she will respond best to-I know if she doesn't respond to the Smiarowski side of me then all will be for naught yet still I wonder What the girl I once had sex with who works at the restaurant this one wants to go to will think and which of them is better looking-I wonder if I'll be the drunken philosopher or the narcissistic poet although we are all one in the same
and if it'll even matter because she probably just wants to fuck me
anyway-someway-
what then will my excuse be for not having a condom besides the fact that I don't get laid by enough women to worry about that shit because once I lay the pipe-she'll be back-
Do you think she'll fall for a line like that?-that I only have long term relationships except for a dozen or so but they were all friends on some level even if only for the moment-and what of the orange armchair in my living waiting room with the tv on and the radio on and the refrigerator right next to me exposing every white Hotpoint stain under the blistering bare bulb sun within the damn box of bacteria-but oh fuck and fuck oh-wait and wait and send and wait and wait to wait which I can't wait to do-wait to write waiting for something good enough to come my way and send my head off in some direction not known by my self direction I've intrinsically been waiting for-but the wait is on so I'll sit back with a beer and more beer and get drunk without waiting another minute for those pages to read themselves or those girls to fuck themselves and I'll be out there waiting to hear some report from either of them hoping the report isn't from a slug into my waiting brain but instead some sort of new interesting way to wait for something else to wait for

And the problem with drinking is waiting for the buzz to kick in and later waiting for the hangover to evaporate like a broken space shuttle-NASA and me got something in common which is the risks don't outweigh the action so we endure the breaking and proceed with the plan after honoring the dead with hymns and wreaths because they died a steeplejacks death and what an exceptional death it was and will be for those of us who continue to pursue the meaning of the space inside and around all that glows with life as each thing that ever glowed left charred embers that have known the glory of living with purpose as their meaning

for some reason I am prepared to give it all but what is the reason for that -as Dan Wilcox said competition kills the spirit and I can understand that because I can't stand competing for women which is so fucking dishonest it creates an environment where the lies are truth and the heart gets lost in some more periwinkle commercialism that is all malls, hair salons, and cell phones

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