Found this poem of mine from a very very bad period of grief, morass and depression. I'd just lost my sister, was losing my lover and had lost the use of my left hand - all in the same month. Was obviously tired of watching the TV in pain...Enjoy or shiver and feel cold and abandoned, whichever it leaves you:
Spare me…
your wasted judgments, and petty low-thinks,
haterisms, check me against the magazine,
the TV, the cable fixer-upper show, the internet a-list,
the talking heads of newsdom, where all the told news is old news - washed-rinsed-repeated into new news that
I can’t find any relevance in or make logic fit and sucks like slow sinks.
haterisms, check me against the magazine,
the TV, the cable fixer-upper show, the internet a-list,
the talking heads of newsdom, where all the told news is old news - washed-rinsed-repeated into new news that
I can’t find any relevance in or make logic fit and sucks like slow sinks.
Spare me.
The lies of love and loving and my guilt stinks,
placaterisms, holds us in this old scene,
the bed empty even of politeness, and Oh, so full of loneliness,
our talking heads bobbing in cold silence, no news is good news, breaking up and making up is same news and
I can’t find myself between us or in you –as foreign to me as ice rinks.
placaterisms, holds us in this old scene,
the bed empty even of politeness, and Oh, so full of loneliness,
our talking heads bobbing in cold silence, no news is good news, breaking up and making up is same news and
I can’t find myself between us or in you –as foreign to me as ice rinks.
Spare me…
of any responsibility…
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