Feeling better?

I am allergic to the world

a sneezing eye-burning sloth

who works sitting down

in an effortless summer

yawning from morning till noon –

life is too short to sleep.


So much to do before death

and too tired for commitment –

I wish I was someone else

a bouncing individual

from a rich production line

swinging rackets, catching balls.


But that other me wouldn’t see

the world from my eyes

turn a phrase from my chair

or spend energy from my purse:

they would breeze from different

direction and measure up.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed