Thursday, October 29, 2015


I haven't closed the book an anything, yet, but
do mostly feel it's closing on me in spite of my
wishes. I belong to nothing any longer : cannot
understand the world I see and am only saddened 
by the piddling mass of Nothing I'm now presented
with. For this we breath and live? I'd have to say
why? There's a dearth of everything today : the 
stupidity of the clowns and people  -  the now
interchangeable remnants of station and situation.
My hands are more mellow than the hands of the
handler -  the face that stares, the flickering image,
the things people say as the walk and they talk  -  
these are integers of the negative, a compound of
the vapid and the dread. I lived in a country once,
where the march of Mankind was applauded. No
longer so, my world has been given over to thugs
and thieves and liars and cheats  -  the bloated factotums
of babies, eating fat porridge while they already line
up for more. never sated, always wanting their false
'enoughs'. Enumerators of the lost, all counter of
the unknowing dead  -  they yet live on, as I traipse
by them, staggering drunk with my shame for them.
For this we live and breath?

No comments: