the harder i try
the worse it gets
my brain is empty
of all significance
i sleep like the cat
by hours
i spill into the
atmosphere vacuous
i have nothing to
say again today
why bother
why bother
they're mowing the
lawn across the street
the grass will do
push-ups by midday
it will be sunday
before we know it
the phone will
be silent
i'll nap through
the afternoon, then
when evening comes
i'll watch a film
i always fall asleep
before it ends
forever
the same
the same
leading to this
déprime sans fin
leading to the
absence of poetry
2 commentaires:
a poem as slender as a cat
sliding through
the days
(daze/d)
there is a sadness here, an uninterrupted continuum, and the cat is not contented
rather the poet
reaches through the veils of ordinary life, ordinary life which is well ordinary, the life we all live, our ordinary lives, sleeping, waking, watching, the neighbours all doing the same things day after day to ask the meaning of poetry
in this life
of its absence
being a cat for a poem is lovely, but any longer, and maybe not, huh
I like the way you've composed this poem, and I do hope the sense of boredom in it is only a poetic pose and not any more than that
xoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxo
thank you, sister. i'm sitting here tonight at midnight in outrageous pain and yet i am not outraged, just the same, as always stunned that i can keep doing this. i'd write a poem but it would sound just like this one. i've written this poem in so many ways, maybe that's what we do, keep reworking the tired themes of our lives until we transcend them. maybe tomorrow, my love, maybe tomorrow... a burst of soul-wisdom, an atom bomb of hope. xooxoxoxo
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