Existential poetry

“No Good Answers”


I asked mum for a dollar once
she asked
“where’s yer fatha?”

I dunno, never knew him.

I asked my teacher for help
she asked
“weren’t you listening?”

I dunno, I’m hard of hearing.

I asked my boss for a day off
he asked
“got something more important to do?”

I dunno, I’d reckon I’d like to eat and sleep

I asked my preacher for a prayer
he asked
“aren’t you dead yet?”

I dunno, not yet sadly.


“Nietzsche Taught Me To Say These Things”


i had been reaping
the misfortune
of existential questionings
as if there were
a thousand reasons
why i was sowing
more ways i could
find my way out of an existence
without a question

turns out that’s too easy
so i had a crisis
and then it went back
to that same habit
questioning death,

but in my adventurous perils
there were certain treasures
that made life worth dying for

and i wasn’t about to let these
lovely rich pleasures of mine go

but I’ll be damned
if i can’t stay alive peacefully
with them hanging around

they have me back
to that first phase
of existential dread and abandon

but, like these pleasures,
those will not leave either.

I’m stuck with life
and it’s ugly reasons
to keep on loving something
or someone,
even if it has to be myself
every now and then
so I’m not stuck with death.

I’ll say that’s not too bad a trade
in exchange for a few questions,
they aren’t worth much a response anyway.
“Walking Blues”
a wiggle here
a squiggle there
what does it matter
if i scribble my whole life
away in sloppy ink?
sure beats
not remembering it every day
because I’m too busy breaking
hardly even
when I’d rather just chill out
in the walking blues.
I’ll walk right up
to my own grave
and comment about how
it’s a little too fancy for my taste.
gimme your classic
dirty jams and the
six feet under scripture –
“I walked right down here,
dead as can be.”

-Tyler Caine

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