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Another Pointless Poem About Gloom
This is probably where I should insert a cold draft
and stretch out a bit of undefinable darkness
on the stale sheets I should be looking for myself in,
the blind man in the dark room looking for the black cat
which isn't there - not now at least - not when we're standing
where it should be curled, waiting for its cue to exit,
leaving me, myself and I with the dilemma of ourselves
on our cold, clammy hands that cannot tie shoelaces,
let alone unravel the seaman's knot in our stomachs.
But I've decided to forego all that for your benefit.
You surely didn't come here to mop up someone
else's gloom with a rag on your hands and knees,
although - admittedly - I am only assuming
you're not an idiot wishing away problems we all have
by pretending my coal mine is so much deeper and
the canary is belting bar upon bar within a toxic cloud
because - then - you'd be no brighter than me,
the person telling you all this nonsense, the bird brain
who taught Tweety down there how to carry a tune.