currency of happiness

i am obliged to trade
in the currency of happiness
that
i don't have any money in
but the world does.

oh yes they have banks of it.
notebooks filled with sweet, sweet memories
desires propped up
on plinths and pillars of
stable, unabandoned memories,
expectation, and retrieval of
happiness.

on most days
i can't so much as buy tea
with happiness;
i don't keep a wallet.

if i earn, i spend all of it in
few short, unnecessary days.
and become poor again
until someone shakes me and puts
a crisp 500 happiness note
sneakily in my shirt pocket.

i cry when i see it
why did they give /me/ this?
and then spend it all at once
on being verbose
and dramatic
and let thoughts fly
no care
for the guilt of tomorrow
belongs not to today
but it comes.

and when it comes,
i have nothing again
i'm under a steam roller.

i wish the world traded with me
in real money.
and not this talk about loving oneself,
not this confusing delirious banter
do not talk to me
about having desire and choice.
they belong to people who trade in
the currency of happiness.