Today’s poem was about cormorants
which I know little about
so I started reading scientific articles
but lost interest just past halfway
because I was thinking about
how obscure my death will be
and how it won’t affect more than
a handful of people
(maybe a few more tangentially)
and how most of us can only hope to do something good before we go
but spend little of our time
pursuing things that actually make us
happy or fulfilled because
the life we’re created is one of
vicious cycles of paperwork, climbing,
complaining, and consuming,
it’s like we’re trying to vacuum the forest floor
to make it as clean
as we want but it’s already
perfect.
The Word Rummager 
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