It's not any great tragedy but the mundane,
the quotidian, which taxes me:
haircuts, shaving, the mowing of lawns;
leaf-raking, tooth-brushing, driving to work;
taking out the garbage, matching socks;
flossing, timesheets, getting gas for the car....
I long to be forced to flee at night,
all wits and energy required just to survive.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 2:37 PM UTC
It's not any great tragedy but the mundane,
the quotidian, which taxes me:
haircuts, shaving, the mowing of lawns;
leaf-raking, tooth-brushing, driving to work;
taking out the garbage, matching socks;
flossing, timesheets, getting gas for the car....
I long to be forced to flee at night,
all wits and energy required just to survive.
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem: humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF_078_taxes.MP3 .
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