All my lives were a joke,
none too well-received
by my broken mind.
Laughter shall come, or
so they insist, do the math:
tragedy plus time…
Womb to tomb, from cradle to grave.
Drift from the death rattle, back to the natal cry.
When will I awaken from this dizzying,
fucked up dream, rise toward my thirst: insight?
As I struggle against the current,
try to rise despite gravity,
break through the sky,
I realize that when its all
said and done, this life may be the one
to serve as the awaited punchline.