Guiltless Layabout

The clock has made its presence known. It nags.
“Oh, look, it's nine o'clock. It's nine-fifteen.
It's half past now. Will you do anything today?”
“Perhaps I won't,” I snarl back. “What is it
That you'd have me do instead of simply
Sitting here? This seat is soft. This blanket's
Warm. The view out of the window is a
Ruisdael painting brought to life, while all
Around, beyond my sight, the world swirls
As if pissed away by knots of vile tyrants,
Dropping downward into hell. I wipe the bowl,
A meek attendant. What else should I try to do?
I cannot walk. There's too much pain. I cannot
Make my way inside the tyrants' fortified
Abodes to shoot them dead, and heal the earth,
And, anyway, self-righteous clock, you know
That tyrants grow like mushrooms. New ones
Would be pissing, flushing before those I'd
Shot had ceased to twitch and bleed,
So I may stay here all day long to curse
My fate, and all the world's, to try to keep
My hip from hurting, and to entertain my
Eyes. Nag. You've made your presence
Known, but you don't chasten me.”




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2018-01-20 at 15:33

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josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
There’s a lot to be said for simply existing without acting in any way. It leads to meditation and skillful writing. Hope your on the mend Larry.
2018-01-21