I lament; I rejoice: ‘O bleak, sensual life,’
And drink down bitter-coffee lies,
Paying for food with the proceeds, stolen back
From behind the artificial shop-counter
Of my hypocrisy.
I lament; I rejoice: ‘O bored, busy day,’
And complain of no time even to think,
As I indulge the myriad masturbations
Of telepornographic, lurid decay, while
Head sinks deep into gut.
I lament; I rejoice: ‘O cold, homely town,’
Whose electric light is as natural to me
As bricks and as money, and, sadly, whose streets,
Already saturated with upturned trolleys and gum,
Were forced to wipe out trees.
I lament; I rejoice: ‘O fresh, stagnant day,’
Which sincerely wishes to improve on the last,
But there’s madness in the family, so regrettably
By midday the neuroses have crept out their doors
And are trampling it again.
I lament; I rejoice: ‘O weak, wishful self,’
Who sees all this and that it cannot change
Which is false but also sadly earnest
Once masturbation and perpetual light have
Made us all short sighted.