Thursday, March 04, 2010

Things Are Already Spoiled

Things are already spoiled that way,
Just as you say, and there’s no way to avoid it.
I can look back at it and forward at it,
But there’s no cheer to be found in it

And it’s all the same in the same stoic frame
On that cold familiar freezer shelf,
In this old unpainted kitchen, on the same dead street.
It’s the same sad sell. I’m famous for it.

I suppose it would be fair
If you’ve got to where
You don’t want to know much more about it
When most of these poems babble alike,
Quite depressive and insane
And obsessed about death or inactivity

Or how words sound or work
As they click around, about, and
In the track or pockets of the roulette wheel—
So you’re right in your remarks,
But what else would I know?

The carousel you sent failed to arrive.
I just got a piece of mail about it from Amazon,
Saying that the horses didn’t survive
And the poles were bent
And all the brass rings were tarnished.


Current draft: 3/4/2010
Created on 2/25/2010 2:11 PM

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