Happy Hollow Days
- Mather Schneider
I went job hunting yesterday.
Job hunting during the holiday season, what fun.
No money for presents, no cares, just
confusion, wrong moves, strangers,
love is here but it isn#8217;t
what it appears to be. Love is just another puppet
held up by the strings of society
and tradition, habit and fear. The structure
of our lives is flawed, ready to
implode. The puppeteer is blind, drunk, rheumatic.
I went to four bars, dropped
off resumes at each one, and was blitzed by six.
I listen and I listen
to my heart, but I cannot understand. Sometimes I think
I can hear the word #8220;kill#8221;, other
times I swer it says #8220;make amends#8221;. Mostly it
just beats too fast,
tried to hold on.
How can so many people do this
without going insane? I feel like I am climbing up
a rope weighted at the end by a bag of coins,
and some giant child is swinging this rope
reound like a lasso. I am trying to climb
up to his hand, then down to his arm, shirt, leg
to the safety of ground. Nature has invented another
failure.
Even the guy on the corner
holding the cardboard sign up to traffic,
soliciting acid, wears a red hat.
Santa#8217;s alcoholic brother-in-law. Santa#8217;s
shame.
