Watching six seasons of The Nanny while my
long-term relationship slowly fell apart

Was more self-inflicted boredom than nostalgia

To be trapped inside

an enchanted 90’s furniture catalogue

Escalating sexual tension

And increasingly strained

employer/employee relations

As Maxwell chased Fran up and down

the staircase with a frying pan

Pulling their shit-for-brains cargo through the dark

And the pastel hysteria of spring of outside the window

And life feels thin, and weak and full of spite

There are some months when all art feels worthless

Just makes me wince with disappointment and rage

And I lay in bed, listening to the distant sound of trains

And the total, mind-numbing futility of it all.

Often, I think about the man who walked into
the National Gallery

And punched a hole straight into

a ten million-dollar Monet painting

Of a sailboat, drifting down a river of autumn leaves

And got sent to prison for five years

Well fuck autumn and its watersports,

those nautical pre-coffins masquerading as leisure time

There’s nothing in this world more boring than heartbreak

It’s like a tax audit of the soul

And what once seemed rare and poignant

And full of emotional promise

Just makes me want to dose myself

to the brim with horse tranquilizers

And take a long vacation to skeleton town

There’s only so much sitting by the window

Begging the moon to drug you

One person can take, before you have to get mad

And stride up and down the toiletries aisle

of the grocery store

Wishing every old woman painstakingly

reading the back of a Listerine packet

An expedient journey to hell

and all the poets you once loved

reveal themselves to be little bitches

Whose constant need to reupholster their pain

seems sad and extravagant

like grief factories, polluting the local waterways

with pathos and nuance

The present has overflowed and turned the whole past bad

Ancient Greece, art nouveau, the entire Italian renaissance

All ruined

Monet too, with his surfeit of waterlilies

Wilting in the heat like a loose- leaf salad

I sit like Nostradamus

In my kingdom of disappointment

Burning down the cities of the future

Going through my Google calendar

Listing all the bad things to come