Bored, board some train of thought,
destination unannounced. Reality
creaks across TV backwards,
competing with, out in parking lots,
lots and lots of harlots. The phone rings;
pick up; some dumb whore
screeching in my ear I must buy more.
Hang up, sure as hung up I am
on combing through the honey of yet
a bit more money. Ask myself,
gazing out the window at birds
jerk worms from the grass: That phone
on the TV, inside me, nextdoor to insanity
or some other not quite reality
passing now by? Onto the
screen leaps a guy
training on me a gun.
This a problem, evil about to be begun,
or the answer to nothing better to do?
Recall then for a bit of peace and quiet
I am so long overdue. Snap in the horse’s mouth
a bit like the buy the whore hot to sell.
Cramming everyone, even a bored me,
onto this winding train
huffing and puffing straight to hell.
Why, oh why, if our lot be suffering,
must it be a lot of suffering?
And the dumb whore turns to me,
into myself dumbly turning.
Willie Smith
aiurea press 