Thursday, April 20, 2017

The Opossum's Complaint

Sometimes I'm just tired of it,
All of it, all the corpses
And cults of it, the urges,
The purges, the mating cries
And the hopeless distress calls,
The way we have to live here
To live here any longer.

My animal joy has gone
In this immobilized pose
Feigning death as another
Means of playing against death,
Against the end it pretends
Has happened. I'm tired of it,
This crick in the neck that's life.

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