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Bucky Sinister

Bucky Sinister is a poet, self-help author, and comedian. He has published four books of poetry and two self-help books, including Get Up: A 12-Step Guide to Recovery for Misfits, Freaks, and Weirdos. His journalism, film reviews, and short stories have appeared on The Rumpus, The Bold Italic, and a number of other online and print publications.

I am Waiting

            (In honor of Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s 100th birthday)


I am waiting

to be exposed as a fake

and I am waiting

for a rebirth of apathy

and I am waiting

for America to be rebooted

and I am waiting

for everyone to be recast

with better looking and less problematic actors

and I am waiting

for The Void to take a selfie

hashtagged #soblessed

and I am waiting

for an astronomer catching

a wormhole fucking a black hole

and I am waiting

for the war to come

in which the people

who start the war die first

and I am waiting

for the unravelling

of everyone who says they give a shit

about whatever they are talking about

and I am perpetually awaiting

a rebirth of apathy.

I am waiting for Jesus to come back

and I am waiting

for him to tell us

he should have kept his mouth shut

that carpentry is holy

but religion is immoral

and I am waiting

for door-to-door nihilists

to wake me up on a Saturday

to tell me that nothing matters

and I am waiting

for God to show up

with SELF MADE tattooed on his fingers

and let us all know that he is quitting

and disappear in an explosion of doves

and I am waiting

for the next God election

and I am waiting

to see Odin wearing a Make Asgard Great Again hat

and Kali to shoot severed heads into the audience

with a hideous T-shirt cannon

and I am perpetually awaiting

a rebirth of apathy.


I am waiting

for a letter from the city

that tells me I was supposed to die last week

and now I owe a lot of money in fines.

and I am waiting

to stand in line at the morgue

to get my picture taken for my death certificate

which I can't get without two forms of ID

and a reflection does not count

and I am waiting

to be evicted from the cemetery

when the plot I rent goes condo

and to tell everyone I know

about how this graveyard used to be cool

and I am perpetually awaiting

a rebirth of apathy.


I am waiting

for people to see the homeless

with the same compassion

they see stray dogs

and I am waiting

for adoption of children

to become as common

as pet rescues

and I am waiting

for everyone who buys a summer home

to explain it to the tent population of skid row

and I am waiting

for everyone in tiny homes

to swap lives with everyone in trailer parks

and I am perpetually awaiting

a rebirth of apathy.


I am waiting

to take a Mobius roadtrip

on the MC Escher Memorial Highway

and I am waiting

for the Mississippi River

to become an ocean

and create a Midwest Coast and a Mideast Coast

and I am I waiting for archaeologists

to dig out Mount Rushmore

and find full sculpted bodies of all the presidents

completely naked and standing nuts to butts

and I am waiting for Columbus

to have a long talk with the Native Peoples

then to go back to Spain

and tell them

he found nothing

and I am perpetually awaiting

a rebirth of apathy.


I am waiting for the bad dreams to stop

and I am waiting

to sleep through the night

and I am waiting

to no longer be startled by sudden noise

and I am waiting

to walk through a public crowd

without fear of dying

and I am waiting

for a stillness of mind

like a Model T Ford

rusting in a farmer's field

and I am waiting

for a barista to ask me

how my day is

and I do not have the impulse

to scream every bad thing I've ever seen

into his mouth while holding his jaws open

like a bear trap

and I am perpetually awaiting

a rebirth of apathy.


I am waiting

for you to say

I'm the only one

and I am waiting

to not give a fuck

about what you do

when I'm not around

and I am waiting

for you to hold me

like a monstrous squid

embracing an ancient sea vessel

until the wooden planks

of all past trauma cracks

under your violent caress

and I am waiting

for you to pull up outside

and say

it's just you me and the dogs

get in the fucking car baby

we have an infinite tank of gas and

we're driving to the end of the world

and I am perpetually awaiting

a rebirth of apathy.


I am waiting for the future promised

by every heavy metal band, science fiction film,

comic book, Anime cartoon,

and the paintings on the sides of customized vans


I am waiting

for love

and I am waiting

for pain

and I am waiting

for death

and I am waiting

for meaningless screams


I am waiting for my enemies

to feel the iniquity of my wrath

and I am waiting for

the hearts of evil men

to be eaten on sandwiches

with bread made from the powder of their bones

and I am waiting

to hear the approaching army footsteps

like rain on a tin roof

gripping my great sword

in anticipation of dealing death

to the soil like a grotesque lawn sprinkler

of mass evisceration

and I am waiting

to annihilate all in my path

until gods pray to me

until the wicked cower in their darkness

until all degenerate power addicts

are cured by the heft of my sharpened steel

and I am perpetually awaiting

a rebirth of apathy.


I am waiting

for questions I haven't worn smooth

and I am waiting

for answers that I can wear out in public

and I am waiting

to see all the old problems

with new eyes

I would like to see anything

without thinking it is a

question, answer, or a problem

and I would do something about it all

but I don’t give a fuck anymore

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