The Dwindling Dream

You keep asking me as though
whatever crap falls from my lips
is some kind of gospel
or carries weight,
but it is worth less then nothing.

I’d laugh but it’s just so damned sad
when people trust the word of a ghost

Why do you care what I think?
Why, exactly, does it matter?

There’s not a god damned thing
going on upstairs;
empty noggins only breed cobwebs,
those things are hardly substantial
enough to catch dust let alone
well formed thoughts, so I ask you,

Why does it matter?

It doesn’t.
Not one word, not one syllable
of my opinion makes a difference

Gimme my crown,
I’m the queen of nowhere;
Knower of fuck all, the invisible woman,

so again I ask, why does it matter?

Aren’t there a billion others about
that could tell you what you need to hear?

The world is full of Pubic Opinion Judges
that could certainly fulfil your desire
for unfettered truth.

They, whose minds turn
as long as their mouths are open?
Surely they are better suited to your requirements

than some transparent fool who believes that she’s human.


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