Yesterday's News

Where is my Muse
in these days of mean flesh

and weary bones - my
pen lies idle and my brain
boils with neon lights
unhealthy heat, the
stupidity of drones.

Outside the rain falls and I
fight the wind, moving
slowly   toe,   heel,   leg,   hand,
skin.  I sit there

and accept my degradation -
the time passes slow from
pay to pay, the first one
long-awaited.  I am

vacant with tiredness,
I stare into space
unable to utter
or think.

And we together abrade - the new
hours - the new exhaustion
strain us: you make stupid
mistakes
and I collapse.

The radio and TV hold no claim:
their charm tawdry, the world
around they tell seems
insignificant and empty
with blues.  These days
the newspapers are always full
of yesterday's news.

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