poem of the day 01.27.16

art is subjective

and it’s mozart’s birthday

and in one of the books i’m reading

a character curls into themselves

like a question mark

in the other they can’t decide

miso soup or salad for dinner

and i wonder what the fuck?

oh, you pretty little

MFA things

i put both books down

hum the jupiter instead

some say that it is bad to not finish a book

a disservice to the author

most mornings i think that life is too short

to fall into the shape of a question mark

to waste the energy

stacking five cent words onto each other

and if it’s miso soup or salad

that’s on the menu for tonight

well then you little literary darlings

i guess i opt for hunger too.