Watching A Maker Die

When there is time it's rather like ornithology.
The windows onto medicines,
the windows onto machines
and of course glass windows
that usually look on poser trees.
You'll probably find much of it
very boring because there are chairs
and you will be asked to sit in them.

There are fake Mount Fujis
and real ones, false lurches
towards dying and horrible
pullbacks, vending machines
you walk from and to, stupid
things to say and do, regrets
twisted into the shapes of blankets
and vice versa scenes. The deceitful
fetal curl of even monsters
may annoy you. You may mentally
switch places or beg God allow you,
or you may feel the indifference
of the seed for the tree.

In the end, you will undoubtedly
be handed a plastic bag,
be asked to gather tiny things up.

At the end, you will undoubtedly
remove a plastic or paper cup.

You will despise and appreciate
the staff. You'll despise
and appreciate your laugh.

You might fuck like a freight train
shortly thereafter.

You might find yourself
poking about in rafters.

If you end up hating God
(and many do)
it will probably not be the dreariness.

More the ordinariness.

The endless human glue.