Bogged down in the minutia

Of my life I rise above

These trivial notions,

Yhese things that weigh

On my soul.

Sometimes it is so hard

To rise above

All that I am,

All that I want to be.

I make plans

With silly, arcane notions

Of long garden hoses

And exhausts.

Sleeping pills

Chased by so fine

A Kentucky Bourbon.

Driving my truck quickly

Headlong into an oncoming truck.

I did not think that I

Would even see thirty.

Now some twenty odd years later

I don't know how I can go on.

It just feels wrong.

Caught up in the minutia,

Melancholic, bucolic

My life is nothing I envisioned.

Ending it all,

Moving along

To another place of existence

Sounds very good to me.

I'd like to return

As Orientalis Blattae,

Appeasing my sensibilities. 

07/25/2008

Author's Note: .. my plea.....

Posted on 07/25/2008
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