Sunday 5 February 2017

the Empty Voice of Day Benedict Brooke


I seem to have run out of cigarettes and beer, and time

I’m shaking every morning, got cold sweats and facial lines

I never thought - tho’ I couldn’t grow younger

That age would bide its time

And now my body aches and my liver

Seems no longer a friend of mine

 I seem to have run out of anecdotes

And the jokes are a little stale

I think I had a memory, though I’m not sure.

The days conspire against me

And on Tuesdays and Wednesdays I try

To put a bookmark in the week

And only weekends seem to be where they belong



I seem to be somewhat older -The mirror says, I hope its lying

Or else it’s a joke -my nose has veins where it once had skin

And my wat’ry eyes are desiccated



I seem to have lost all appreciation of the world

a Tireless regime of crosswords and pointless papers

Laughing with the fools who secretly laugh at me

As they see my flesh destroyed and my famous mind

Fulfilling nothing but their trivial questions.

 I wish I could be resigned and call time upon it all.....

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