Sick Day
3-3-06
Sometimes, I celebrated so long,
called to the heavens so loudly,
and danced so ferociously
that I thought the echoes could never die.
But now the echo is polished boots on concrete
walking up to me, in this cell,
and all parties are extinguished
because the commonality, the heat-sync of passion,
has learned that life hurts
too goddamn much to smile.
I see mediocrity everywhere.
Tell me that, against temples and libraries of expectations
any of our dances measures up.
Nothing really changes in this tedium called adulthood,
Hell, even these words are unworthy
of everything but my hatred.
*Later note; I cut the last stanza, and now this poem is the first part of a long piece I'm working on. I find very often thta I'll write a few poems over a period of a few days and find that they work best together. This is one of those situations, since this poem....definitely needed an ending, after cutting that stanza.*
