the news

all of a sudden i got tired of everybody

talking, and all their tired opinions. 

i didn’t want to hear about movies, or cinema.

literature festivals. performance art. new books.

i didn’t want to hear who made them angry,

or their tepid takes on politics, or weather.

but i liked when you described the birds to me 

in the morning, their colors and quirks,

which ones are polite recipients of your rice,

and which ones unkind. i liked when you

strummed guitar or read me a poem.

*

i don’t want to hear anybody tell me the news,

it is always awful. the world is sad, and strange,

but most of all absurd. there is beauty everywhere.

and also ugliness. in the very heart of the world,

and in all its tendons and veins. in the furthest

reaches of every system. even in the beautiful chest

on which i rested my hand, and then my tired head.