In the end, it’s just one thing gone.
You know about American Idol;
your newspaper runs urgent
headlines and daily analysis
on the show.
Now you’ve begun to notice
how you use your radio.
You stopped listening, but
it stays on. You’re the silent
guest. You’ve turned your back
on your hosts and let yourself
simply be in that company.
You begin to notice the way
you use your computer, all
your food, and your car.
You might keep going and stop
when you’ve drained the entertainments
from your life and put yourself
inside that running mercury bead
of present time.
I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Blog Archive
-
▼
2006
(144)
-
▼
April
(29)
- Poem
- The Man in Your Garden
- Giving up T.V.
- Jaw
- Habit
- The Coffeeshop's Last Week
- Lost Things
- Driving Tired at Night
- Ecdysis
- Work Routine
- The Imagination of Fathers
- Ugly Days
- ...But the Rent's Low
- Poems That Fail
- Creation
- Hometown
- Acceptance
- Losing the National Debate--A Consolation
- Responsibility
- One Man Down
- Influence
- The Workers Wait Out the Tornado
- Violence of Mind
- Love Note to Me, from Me
- Arguments at Work
- Morning, Early Spring
- Night
- Weather Change
- Routine
-
▼
April
(29)
No comments:
Post a Comment