Young Man Very Carefully Selects a Snapple in an East Village Deli

“Pomegranate Raspberry”
had had the sort of chic
cachet one wanted for
the light bright Zeitgeist play
with which one hoped
to fill one’s day today:

one thought that, later, to
reflect that one had bought
a Snapple bottle of it
in the spirit of the same
blind grope towards
an enlightenment with which

one often tried to make
one’s way to alter even one
iota of the sway to that
excruciating entropy of psyche
one could not allay by
praying, or by simply staying

still, and that if there were
something to be gotten
from the exercise of will,
one might, by doing this,
discover what it was.
(Damn, I’m buzzed.)



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