You May Want to Stop Back LaterDon't mind me. I'm just out of sorts.
I cannot even tell you why. Is it the hail
That's coming down? The rain which
Never seems to end? The heart which
Leaves me breathless, sweating? Being
Stuck within a nation of uneducated
Dolts? I see no good in anything.
There's no place I would like to go.
I know of no activity which has any
Appeal to me. I'd sleep, but I've become
Too crabby. I'm just stuck here,
Pounding keys malignly, out of sorts.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 55 times
Written on 2017-04-19 at 13:49
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