Timequake

I want to be wise
like Vonnegut was

and not feel my life
like a .44 slug

but it's so hard with
both feet on the ground

and always so filled up with
something

like despair but more often boredom
or this detached pondering voice

more than wedding cake from
the grocery store with green frosting only

sweet and deadly for the little
teeth in my mouth, more than plastic wrappings

dripping over ripened ears.  It's just so fast
with an eye to the needle instead of the dress

Load, ready, aim, fire, blasting off
without a notion of the primer or target.