No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction at anytime.
There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,
a blessed unrest keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others.
-- Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille
Was || Will Be || Past Moments || Now || Notes

2001-09-22 - 11:33 a.m.

if loneliness were terminal

if loneliness were terminal

i wouldn't have to bear it.


if loneliness were terminal

i wouldn't have to keep living with it.

it could just finish me off, quickly, painlessly

stop this dragging, festering ache in one

brilliant burst of pain.

some days i am the sick. aging zebra

limping along ever further behind the herd

one hoof dragging in the parched serengeti dust

glancing back over my shoulder

half dreading your approach

half begging for release

casting challenges into the wind

"come on, you bastard."

"come on, and sink your fangs into my throat"

can't you see i no longer have the energy

to spring about like those young zebra?

those naive lovers, those hopeful dreamers?

those blessed enough to stride two by two?

can't you see i've lost the taste for life?

with no one with whom to share it,

this treat has grown bitter,

this water hole has dried up.

come and get me, you bastard.

i'm waiting for you.


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