My half-hearted efforts to amuse myself have come
To naught. I stare at nothing from a chair. The news
Is much too bleak to read. The videos of onanists,
"Hey, look at me, and give me money!" leave me
Wishing I was dead. I'm not hungry. I just ate.
My neighbors hunker in their house. It's painted
Black, and rather ugly. If they come outside at all,
It's just to pick up packages of things they've
Purchased on the web. It's barely three. I shouldn't
Drink. I go on staring at the ceiling, day, like life,
Now written off. Perhaps a cause would animate me.
I could join the fascist throng, but they're grotesque,
And they don't need me. Others, leftists, say they do,
But it's quite clear their time is done. Lost causes don't
Provide amusement. All they offer is awareness
That the noblest intentions often come to naught.