Silt drips from above
I couldn’t fucking work there
Mud drops on your shoes
A fine lace garment
quite unironically
soldered to a chain
Fuck your maggot shit
Fuck these half sunken bike frames
Fuck this dirty air
I want a fresh breath
And a fresh breath-ed wo-man
With all the trimmings
A bit of cooked meat
In a small plastic sealed box
Salad for effect
You must understand
In an underground mine shaft
Everythings boring
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My God, I related to your gripping poem! I feel the same way in my crypt. It’s good to know I don’t walk in the darkness alone.
-PR
Yes and hopefully not forever my dude 😀
“Against boredom, the gods themselves contend in vain.” – Friedrich Nietzsche
Personally, I decided many years ago to abjure boredom. To be bored means one must be tired of what is going on in their own head…. I refuse to do that; it’s my head, & my choice whether to be bored….
Works for me…
Good poem….
gigoid, the dubious
😎
Good plan gigoid, there’s a wonderful and pointless lightshow in our own heads. Thanks for visiting ❤