Sensations

I wish everyone hadn't so disappeared,
That only I had the nasty habit
Of sticking his head up his ass--and maybe not even me!
We grow apart, by littles or a lot,
And even just a little effort
Becomes Too Much
Once enough time has passed.

One side or the other or both
Might make a huge effort, but the returns
Would be--what?--not much. We'd glow a while,
And then return to that dismal state
Of not needing anything extra or being needed as such, either.

Our lives are full, too full--
But full of what? TV and disease,
Nasty neighbors across the street--
All I know of them is their yapping dogs,
And all they know of me is they will never know me?

It's hard to know or care, either way,
But if we have anything going on at all,
We cannot pause or stretch ourselves
Enough to ever reach back
Across time or that deadly river Styx
Or quell those earthen rivals or silence deadly forums.

It's all true, it's all false,
It's all a great grief and all a great relief.
It's nothing we didn't mean
And nothing that meant very much,
Oh, Jesus, give us a goddamned speeding ticket
And shut us down; take away the car,
Throw away the keys! No one can be trusted,
Can't you see? This is a long slow deadly path
And whether there is admiration or a furor
Or else a menacing hue and cry,
We still are not subject to sense, but only to sensations--
We submit to it all while whining or bragging about Hubris
And that all we do is achieve this tilting status,
How on and on we go...