relentless as the tarantula

they're not going to let you
sit at a front table
at some cafe in Europe
in the mid-afternoon sun.
if you do, somebody's going to
drive by and
spray your guts with a
submachine gun.

they're not going to let you
feel good
for very long
the forces aren't going to
let you sit around
fucking-off and
you've got to go
their way.

the unhappy, the bitter and
the vengeful
need their
fix - which is
you or somebody
in agony, or
better yet
dead, dropped into some

as long as there are
humans about
there is never going to be
any peace
for any individual
upon this earth or
anywhere else
they might
escape to.

all you can do
is maybe grab
ten lucky minutes
or maybe an hour

is working toward you
right now, and
I mean you
and nobody but

Appears in You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense

©Linda Lee Bukowski - used with permission