Lately, the weather aches;
the air is short of breath,
and morning stumbles in, stiff-jointed.
Day by day, the sun bores the sky,
until the moon begins
its some disappearing act,
making the oceans yawn.
Even the seasons change
with a throb of weariness—
bud, bloom, leaf, fall.
If it would help,
I would paint my house silver
or sell it or buy
a red convertible.
I would, but who am I
to try to cheer up
the self-indulgent universe.
Neal Bowers
i'm actually posting this poem because i really don't like it. i think it's a crock of shit. your thoughts?
I honestly like this part...
ReplyDelete"I would, but who am I
to try to cheer up
the self-indulgent universe."
It fits my mood.
damnit clint,
ReplyDeletethat's the part i hate the most!
let's hang soon.