(no subject)

[mulekick]

“February”

Jake slept through the running of the bulls
and while the Fiesta exploded around

everyone, everyone kept asking where he
was, and when found, “where were you?”

And that is exactly how it is, when the
fun goes on for days and days, you

do not want anyone to miss it, and want
to put your finger on everyone and be

sure no one is missing anything, and
you want to be sure no one is falling behind-

that no one is taking a break if you are not
taking a break.

Things were so fun, and then they
were not as fun, and then they were

no fun at all. Nothing is fun anymore.

We all used to throw our hands up and drink
to luck, because so much of our lives

was surrendered to luck. But now too
many of us dwell on what luck has

brought us or what luck has not brought
us. This is a tiny death that gives the

bull the chance to run us over. We
cannot pause to take inventories of what is

arbitrary anyway. There is no end
to what luck gives or takes

away. Sometimes there are parades and
sometimes it is the quiet morning, but

we should drink all the same: our
lives are not our own, and never were.