THE HAZY PART

The whole day is a rain of letters
on the page which has yellowed in years
you strain what composes you
you throw away what decomposes like
a story of yourself in the past that they
like to believe and hear again
which disturbs you a bit into a trembling
and shaking dilemma

this is the pain in the neck where everything
hideous seditious and tedious
come a roaming into a room where you
want to spend the rest of your days
but which keeps on getting out of your head
saying, " you do not belong here with us anymore"

and they tell you, " go, go, they always have a
place for you"

outside the rain of letters continue
a flood of emotions come like a rush of
senescence where the shouting and the silence
come like a pendulum