Saturday, February 27, 2010

My Old Friends

My old friends,
Sometimes I think I don’t know
What any of them are for anymore.
Does that sound too utilitarian?
Whatever it is, I guess
They may think the same or worse of me,
For the same facts are true
Going one way as going the other.

What comes and goes doesn’t change much.
I sometimes like to think
That there’s something real
And yet there’s something in the mirror, too,
Something that’s distorted, perhaps not really there,
But I expect I’m wrong, as I am about so much.
I’m just a resentful cur,
Who feels no one’s as down as I am—
Not as beat down, or as let down, or as down on himself—
For now, that’s all the barking at the moon that I can bear.

Current draft: 2/27/2010
Created on 1/28/2010 6:38 PM

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