a poem about the wildlife refuge in brooklyn

my life seems depressing. 

when i write about the things i do in real life i feel like i am fucked.

we all change as people, right. there are some bananas near me

and there are more bananas on the windowsill. 

i changed as a person, but still feel existentially frustrated,

and now i like to drink coffee and think about how societies are meaningless

constructs. the line breaks in the poem will drive home this winning argument - 

something, be post modern maybe.

my endocrine glands have been infected, i feel

and will require an injection

the doctor says. 

the serum they use is electrically charged, and seems sweet!

the anxiousness in my stomach is yellow and ice creamy. 

at night on a friday i feel like i took a nap and woke up extra oily.

i read some

sentences of short stories and then stopped after some sentences

and made pasta, ate it, 

rode my skateboard around at 5am and bought a huge cantaloupe

and dropped it, but it was fine and then i ate it

then i took the train to the wildlife refuge

where i walked around in a maze of bushes.

sometimes i came to mud and grass taller than small trees

and at one point felt completely surrounded by birds

but could not take pictures of any with my cellphone.

with my shirt off, sweating a little,

red lines and patches streaked across my chest and arms.

then, finally i felt too tired to keep up my an inner monologue or something.

forgetting, but imagining a little, 

i slept a little on the train ride back.