6739. SO HEAVILY BURDENED

SO HEAVILY BURDENED

--(oh, I don't know; something to do with Hemingway)--
Well then, I'm supposed to feel sorry for you? It's 2am

and I'm still strapped to this back-breaker machine and

it's set to the highest speed and pressure. Let me off some

maybe? Thom Paine? These are times that try men's souls?

Summer soldiers, Winter patriots? Any of those code words

still matter? I just don't know and I just don't reason.

-

You're reading Poor Richard? An almanac while you sit

by a Franklin Stove? How cute, how quaint is all this now?

Vermont, like a memory, makes me hinder my chance for

chances. My lust for life is gone, and I've got two good ears.

I'd try to shoot myself, but I know I'd miss.

-

OK then  -  for now let's make it short and sweet, like a

Hemingway sentence, declarative and right to the point. 

No decoration : damn the bullfighter, I want to say, damn

Robert Jordan, damn Jake's damaged penis, wounded as

he is in the 'worst-place-of-all-places'. I mumble : 'so

what makes you think your death matters, with

so many more deaths to follow.'