Yesterday's News

Where is my Muse
in these days of mean flesh

and weary bones - my
pen lies idle and my brain
boils with neon lights
unhealthy heat, the
stupidity of drones.

Outside the rain falls and I
fight the wind, moving
slowly   toe,   heel,   leg,   hand,
skin.  I sit there

and accept my degradation -
the time passes slow from
pay to pay, the first one
long-awaited.  I am

vacant with tiredness,
I stare into space
unable to utter
or think.

And we together abrade - the new
hours - the new exhaustion
strain us: you make stupid
and I collapse.

The radio and TV hold no claim:
their charm tawdry, the world
around they tell seems
insignificant and empty
with blues.  These days
the newspapers are always full
of yesterday's news.
Collected Works
Return to Collections all
next poem