Dating Tirades
April 24, 2007
A blade of grass
April 26, 2007

Am I to walk upright
and proud when nobler
trees can bend?
How simply lost is poetry
today, the day I cannot
Find my toothbrush for my
sanity; where every
little bug that burrows
through my schedule
leaves me hollow and exhausted.
I mean, the
starving bank account and
swollen debts; the dishes
propagating in the sink as
though against extinction;
the friendships troubled with
a poorly chosen phrase,
and far too many obligations
stuffing up the calendar. So much
extra living in this short week,
and yet, with all the inspiration
I could wish for, the page collects
an apathetic dust. I am too
angry-tired-broken-sore to
write so well. Oh, I can
string my words together as
easily as I tie my own shoes.
But there’s no art here; only fits
of a pen. This is why I
say: How simply lost is poetry!
—such waste this is!—
How simply lost is poetry
today.

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