Descending,
with the intention to amend
some simple saying
that solves everything
to my prior sentence's end,
I pretend
to bend my ear,
to hear the masses and their din,
to insert empathy within,
and send myself into
a self-back-slapping spin
that tends
to make my grimace
seem a grin,
and my chewed-up pencil
appear to be a fountain pen.
And when I gaze into the ground,
then I'll make my contented sound,
suspended there,
the dirt fast-coming,
intending, at last,
to find out
what's so goddamn funny.
