Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Bad Smell

You can’t do anything about it,
So why should you fret?
I’ve been bitten, made lame, battered, bitter and shuttered,
Since before you were born
And you won’t expect to see any change at this late date
Until I’m in the grave. Even I don’t expect more than that.

All I can do these days,
After so much time misspent
And so much energy gone for rent,
Is to keep a little occupied,
Even if it’s only in my head or fingertips
While my house and body slowly decay,
None too visibly, perhaps, but certain
Like a bad smell gone astray in a closed room.

(Now that’s a pleasant way
To speak about oneself.)

Created on 11/18/2009 4:51 PM

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Abandon hope, all ye who enter here! (At least put on your socks and pants.)