January 13, 2001

  • Predawn Trilogy

    i’m not too sick of convictions
    nor tired of taming around.
    want no gift for my birthday:
    hate just sulking in circles out loud.
    brooding juices me of my mind’s mood--
    won’t dwell long in that moldy doldrum.
    a life drained ’s not much worth living;
    so why am i sapping again?



    you give me nothing to think about
    but that’s better than nothing at all.
    your predictable roll-out of rhythmic indulgence
    leaves me staring blank-faced at the ground.
    for just as long as you’ve been here
    i’ve been sensing that something must change.
    yet as long as you insist to remain near
    my life never will get rearranged.



    sensuality washes over me
    in a sudden whim of remorse
    derived from a pure psychic dimension.
    first uptight, I ease out
    then submit and succumb
    to this wasting away of pretensions.
    in the end all the verve
    that’s ever rattled this earth
    is reduced to a single sensation.
    and i’m staggered to find
    that it’s only my birth.

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