Warm breeze after too-short sleep
The bitter stout tongue of coffee
Birds’ bleeps and tweets high above
So this then is the promised land
Flowing with silk and money
I promised myself if I ever got here
I’d promptly blow my brains out
Yet now and yet now
I grasp for dreaded contentment
Addict jonesing for normalcy
Aha What a sack of shit
For most mortals this boredom
Would be sweetest paradise
This angst no worse
Than after dinner burning
In that most vital of organs
Where peace flows out and in
In the mundane pump of blood
No comments:
Post a Comment