Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Circa Dec. 2001

i am tired:
tired of paper,
shuffling steps,
slick edges that bite
and keyboard hunches,
florescent light,
skipped and rushed lunches
then dull, lonely nights
of dry tasks at home,
darkness of walls
under high, cracked ceilings
with a brain unbright, sad,
yes, those are my feelings
between working and bed,
the dull, lonely nights
despite constant company
from a lover, no less,
whose profession is passion,
which both delights and drowns,
like seashores, where inaction
leads unswimmers sinking naturally down
into dull, lonely nights
unflickering with transluscent wings
lofting insect smiles that could buzz
the heartstrings of one
for whom dinner was made
hours after the sun
faded and my hunger set, delayed
for dull, lonely nights,
small, unseen cages to catch joy
and throw it away
while he studies and draws
i stumble, fall, locked into petty tasks,
floors followed with broomstraw,
profound questions unasked
during dull, lonely nights.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

This is pretty and sad to me.