A weariness infects my world.

Contagion, your art is viral now.
It moves so many well beyond,
Beyond their dreams and best laid schemes.
Yet, moves it not my weariness.

A weariness infects my veins.

My blood is still C-negative.
A sea of trouble parts to show
A reddened arterial road
Away from hearty destiny.

A weariness infects my breath.

My oxygen is high enough
To think it still imparts me health.
Combustible it is as rage.
As obstinate, as impotent.

A weariness infects my thoughts.

My tongue excites no mercury
Beyond the normal level marked.
My speech is, but, mercurial.
It makes a bond to break a bond.

A weariness infects my calm.

My nails are chewed up cuticles
Which spew anxieties in a spit.
I file the ragged sharpnesses
Before I scratch my other itch.

A weariness in…fuck my life!

I haven’t got maturity
Enough to bear with stoic strength.
A poet I am meant to be:
Condemning, cursing much at length.