an unreedeeming yawn,
today's promising dawn,
filtered into a bucket of
unfulfilling days
unearned fatigue settles
like dust
the head hauls unnecessarily heavy
thoughts
thoughts of yore,
dreams unlived
girls unkissed
abandoned stories
again, unearned fatigue rattles,
a warning,
tomorrow might begin
too early
too early,
always too tired too early
I have loved you in ways,
in ways devoid of common sense,
I've loved in the quiet desperation of
an addict,
I have loved you
in ways that asked nothing in return,
but all I gotten in return
is jeering silence,
as if my heart has no discernible rhythm
the ever overwhelmingly inviting
pop sound,
of beer being beheaded,
the taming sip, a slow
slide towards uninhibited night
unhibited pockets,
daring damsels swing their posterior
endowments
the deejay cranks up the volume,
I whistled at the little dog,
It gave me a listlessly solemn gaze,
as if I was disturbing a sacred exercise,
as it tried to borrow a few sorrow-filled hours,
by lapping water by the cowshed,
the curved back, poking ribs betrayed
it's eloquent emaciation,
It left it's pain for my speculation,
bore it with a bravery only dogs know how
I knew it wouldn't make it
and I wouldn't interfere with it's fate,
for the dog had yet to have a name,
even if it had, I am not too sentimental about dying dogs
I am not attached to them
With time, someone will stumble upon its bones,
for a dog chooses solitude for a dignified death
And tonight, it's loud absence will shroud the compound
She was so happy,
so happy in a bothersome way,
because in her happiness,
I saw a reflection of my own
cruel unhappiness,
a pathetic kind the repels other's
joy,
and I,
being no robber,
and she, neither a lover of mine,
I did not have any means,
except to crawl back into my
unhappy crib,
to be alone,
by myself,
unbothering,
and not bothered
as if allergic to
happiness
I envy the way he falls asleep
A half a minute and he's gone
As if sleep had waited too long
To accompany him till dawn
I envy that he sleeps at exact times
Perhaps a little early but never late
And every day of the week, he does
Sometimes supper can even wait
I envy that he does not brood at all
About the day's trivialities at sunset
All he cares about is his sweet slumber
Unlike I, by midnight, rest isn't earned yet
I toss and turn for hours every night,
I pour libation, offer blood sacrifice
To the unyielding sadistic sleep
Only glimpsed at a minute to sunrise
