Tired Legacy

Zoning out to a documentary about bird matings,
I am too tired to even appreciate blanca boobs,
And I regret not buying that leather jacket,
And I really should clean the shower grout
But the foundation of the future enchants
With the possibility of forever, 
despite my mother. 

I’ll deal with everything hard and easy
During tomorrow’s ten minutes
Even though tomorrow’s hour may never come,
Thus this poem will be the fine gone thing 
For which I am remembered, and that is not 
failure or fortune, for good or ill.

It is what it is, is what idiots say,
Because they have nothing better
To pin their personality on
Than the total ineptitude of their fate,
Which is why I create each day,
Leaving behind pages for my daughter. 

Every single second, spent
Laying on a couch or avoiding the lava of life,
Is either a memory in the matrix 
Or a moment under the sun-killed moon,
Where millipedes make the most
Of their millions while I just continue continuing,
because I am too tired to die.