For When Everything Seems Pointless by Matt Moseman

pry knives and bludgeons

out of yesterday morning's pile of useless

garbage and rail on in between oaths and curses

about hell's blasé sheen.

smash the glass over and under eyesight.

not by hand, by standing in the paths of shrapnel.

yes shattering seems going good

except sand is needed and there is no precision

chute to the meticulous abuse required.

Eyeglasses are so precious to you

or so you thought they would be salvageable

once the pieces got small

enough well there's your trash.

lived for fine craftsmanship and so what were your eyes

but spam in a sandwich

in between factory slices of

wonderbody of messiah complexes

who moo and bray like lurid farm animals.

I am no hourglass innard!

Soot blown into fatally curious eyes;

I want to blind and maim and wound.

test defenses--fences fall

down thoughtlessly as disinterested penis.

you know what

fuck you reader

how about you just scream at walls all the time

so they get bored and tired of keeping

such easy secrets from you.  the meaning

of life is a handful of mints on the way out

of a spit-shined diner because you need it,

hell, you should take two handfuls or

fill your pockets because your breath stinks

and it would be a favor to anyone.

One by one is lying as many fit are too few

work your molars chew load and sound contempt

at imposition.  If you're a real man

you'll spit the whole chewed up wad

of wintergreen whatever at some idiot not for looking

at you sideways but for not glancing dirty enough

when you really could have used some skepticism.