Through Insincere Usage (NaPoWriMo #4)

In the pejorative sense, yes
I pity you like Lindsay Lohan
although, essentially, she’s quantifiably better
than me.

If I’d said in 1910
earlier, sooner, I pitied
every death you were accountable for
you’d sense I understood

Instead, I’ve the sincerity of
Descendants’ Clooney
entirely Oscar-facing.

Loose robe, elastic waist
arcade machine
pay out.
what have you

As a Little Child

I figure when people have secrets, but I can’t figure the secrets out, what they are, which I guess is why I haven’t been recruited by a specialist government agency, why I never know a disaster’s going down when it is. I assess after, am an aftermath-wallower, understand the intracacies of disengaged looks, feel tension like frission between people’s lips. My job title could be ‘Eye-Fucking Expert’ but instead I settle for the minimum-wage sorts of fall-into jobs we own since the Millennium turned, which was a bad New Year for me, if the eve’s an indication of the coming year, of every coming there will be. And god knows, we’ve all predicted wrong.