I often sit
under the hot sun
with a cold beer
and a hairy
bear watching
passing planes
and butterflies
fly by.
and i wonder
if what i’m doing
is beautiful or
sad.
and I usually ask
aloud
to no one and thus
everyone
what would Hemingway
say.
Then i grab another
beer, and a dog
treat for bear.
and i wonder aloud
if this next beer
will be the one that
i lose it on.
“A man can be destroyed but not defeated.”
Hemingway would say.
and i wonder what that really means,
i mean, if your destroyed
can you go on – and then i realize
that that is what life is.
destruction.
so how will i destroy all of
what was built by my will
and my ignorance
and my mindless
moments
Ernest would say
“Decadence is a difficult word to use since it has become little more than a term of abuse applied by critics to anything they do not yet understand or which seems to differ from their moral concepts.”
and then i remember
i don’t give a fuck
about any of this anymore.
Thank you, Hemingway.
