What’s so funny?
I’m not laughing.
Heavy chunks of the sky
are falling on our heads.
Grass is growing downward
into the earth, not out of it.
All of my books are sprouting legs
and walking away.
There’s nothing funny
about these happenings,
so why do you laugh
uproariously at them?
If I could stop all of these events
and put everything back to the way it was
I would, but how can I stop
the world from changing before my eyes?
I don’t know, but I wish you would
stop saying it’s better this way.