Poem 2004

Lassitude

 

Weak as a dribble
and too ill for sex
tired even
from dreaming
on another unwelcome morning
one look then
reclosing eyes
soon
doorways to nothingness
open in my mind
over absent possibility
wishing I was once more alive
in carnality
through city nights
with chance to be preyed upon
but here
just unfriendly dawn
blurred across the pallid sky
while this clock ticks
few neurons fire
temper’s flame burning lower
malady forms its closed sphere
I feel squashed there
by forlornness
like a bug.

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