i do nothing.
i dream loudly, all but waking the neighbors
with television gameshows, stacks of coins,
rooms full of mirrors and fire.
i do nothing,
sinning gently against bigger dreams of
wealth and success and productivity
and the american idea of democracy.
i do nothing,
leaving little words on pages that
no one ever reads because what exactly
is the point of saying it out loud?
i do nothing.
i read books, write poorly metered poetry,
and all the while keep quiet inside my skull
preserving little strength and less ambition.