Going Mad in HendersonThere's a sound. I don't even know what it is,
A thrum, a throb, a fan out of balance. It bores
Into my mind. I need sleep, but it keeps me
Awake, keeping days a succession of possibly
Fantasies, possibly not. No one comes.
I'm not someone who has many friends.
Little happens. I live off of checks in the mail.
I'm alive by some standards. I wish I was
Dead. In the valley below me, the streets
Are unruly. The strip malls' packed parking
Lots signal that plenty will be found within.
All those ticky-tack cubes form a blue-collar
Version of Heaven on Earth. I should goad
Myself into descending, and celebrate what
I don't want with those I don't like, and I would,
I assure you, if I had the means to silence
That maddening sound.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
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Written on 2020-02-26 at 03:16
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