October 14, 2009


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.


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