and it is taking a toll on my work life:
it separates joints by hardening muscles,
and then you find lovers you ought to have forgotten
telling you in fevered dreams that things will be alright
I've invented a bed of cruel humor, apparently,
a thing that snickers as my turning is frustrated
beneath its quilts that I can no longer air out
it has not yet done its work enough to spit me out
and nightly I attend the party that will one day do me in.
No comments:
Post a Comment