The days, the days, they march on
Incessantly, nothing to distinguish the one
From the other but this suffering
Feeling that drags on like a lifeless cat
A drooping dog a rainy day soles
Scuffing slick pavement.
(The people new the knowledge fresh
The skies as blue as in the west
With yellow orange and red littering
This newly crinkling life)
Yet that is not enough
now
Now it is all some rhymed story
From a picture book written in another
Language for some kid I do not
Know. Without that language
Those pictures mean nothing.
When day I wish the next to follow
With drooping lids and wavered
Mind and yawning chasm of time
That stares me, blue from brown
Eye.
And when at night no sleep comes
But quickened, frantic, lively activity
That never tires wakened dream
Of what I do not have beside me.
Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow
As seek to quench the fire
with words
Running feet on a treadmill shown fist
Dragging my collared neck
On and —
