dear diary
i don't know who else to turn to excuse me to whom to turn all is not well here or there everyone is tired of my voice my words have long since worn out their welcome frankly what i have to say is not original not interesting not well expressed yawn-inducing where's the spark the crashing waves the crescendo the climax snuffed out robbed by life by climate and politics and covid and economics and famine and men with guns always men with guns how can i write of dolphins and salty this and salty that when all is not well even close to well sigh in my little world behind the blue door all is well sort of as my friend says sort of and he's right all is sort of well not much spark these days between work and worry and the sheer weight of months and months of sameness work and worry not much romping of course we pay the penalty for being at this time in our lives childless our hours are ours which leads to self-absorption if not self-importance not that marketa doesn't have her students she does but behind the blue door it’s quiet when did i last lol or she today after class marketa made a kind of chicken stew so good so very good while i did the laundry made the bed put fresh air in the car tires that was a joke swept the flagstones and front walk i mean i mean we're sittin' here on the group-w bench i’m sorry childhood memory dad's song i’m devolving into nonsense diary it all seems so serious and all so ridiculous and all so difficult except the going to bed part that's sweet that’s lovely brush teeth say goodnight maybe maybe not hand on hip at the least think thoughts drift off waking is problematic greet the morn the pre-dawn morn with heart a-flutter but that's me diary marketa sleeps better wakes easier worries less tra la takes it as it comes tra la streams tra of la consciousness la tra la i am a modern major general tra la
Poetry by one trick pony
Read 289 times
Written on 2021-11-02 at 11:56
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
MetaPoetics |
Griffonner |
Chaucer Whethers |