BlitheI face the winter twilight with peculiar equanimity.
I'm not relieved of any worries. My car can't abide
The snow. My country spirals downward, driven
By a mob of racist dolts, and led by someone they
Elected (here's the weakness of republics) who's
No wiser than they are. The market's crashing,
And the one I love seems incommunicado, bored,
Perhaps, or simply shallow. Anyway, I'm here
Alone, but I've an ample glass of bourbon,
And the sky is colorful. The night will come.
I'll go to bed, and, if I sleep for long enough,
I'll wake, but won't be cognizant of all the things
Which vex me. I'll remain equanimous.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
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Written on 2018-12-29 at 03:15
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