J. Alfred, I'm sick of your whining --
get off your **** and do something!
Yes, I know life is meaningless.
I know you've got a lot of time on your hands.
Of course, tea parties can be boring.
But let me just ask here: "Is someone making you do this?
Is someone making you hang out with these cold, scornful
   women?"
Surely a guy like you could find someone to relate to. It's
    not that hard.

No, you're not Prince Hamlet --
and you're not an attendant lord either.
You're J. Alfred Prufrock!
Eat a peach, for-God's-sake!
Talk to the mermaids!
Just do it!

<Note: It's useful to think of Whoopi Goldberg as the speaker.>

A rapacious hand that collects
Often begets
Vanity
Envy
And
Ennui

The garden would not take root
Hardly a **** could flourish
No matter how much water absorbed
This muddy field left malnourished

Something was amiss in this mucky space
Ennui entwined climbing up the spine
Hippocampus left asphyxiated
The kudzu of the mind

Nothing but an entanglement of
Thought and emotion
Strangling the heart
In this confusing ocean

Loving
Excited
Joyful
Happy
Good
Smiling
Life
Frowning
Fine
Lying
Ennui
Melancholy
Forlorn
Death
Smiling
­Good
Happy
Joyful
Excited
Loved I hope.

The snooze button
My morning companion
Why wake early
When you can delay ennui
For just a moment longer
Ten minute dreams
That seem to last
A lifetime until
It's too late

Hurry to work
The chair you hate
Hurry to work
The screen that stares
Hurry to work
Where no one cares
Hurry to work
The sooner to despair

Surrounded by walls that blind
The morning star
Surrounded by people who
Worship cupidity
Maybe I do too
That's why I am here

As I mope around the swamps of my brain
I think of nature’s beautiful scenery
Stuck in a world where currency reigns
Littered with mankind's rapacious factitious imagery

Sat in a cube, walls off-white
Ceiling tiles, **** stained
Trapped in ennui's plight
Blue light keeping a soul maimed

But there's a cure
Just beyond these walls
5pm, till then I endure
Then I can answer Edens call

Who looks up at the
Buxom moon?
The city is drowned
In its own grimness.

It was beginning to feel like I had no stories left to tell.
I felt drained like all I had left was nostalgia and ennui.

I love the power of having a story to tell.
The ability to capture an audience.
To change their day, week, perspective.
To bring the audience through a range of emotions.
To see the tears building up with sadness to flowing out as happiness, as relief.

I miss that
Of standing on the stage in front of a group of
intimate strangers

Tuna sandwiches on white bread
Carried in a paper bag
Josh Groban on the CD player
Season Three of 2 broke Girls
Matching shoes and purses
Vacation in the Pocanos
Subscription to People Magazine
Pennies in a piggy bank
Silver-beige 4-door Accord
A little college but no degree
Always ten pounds overweight
Celebration meal at Sizzler
Artificial Christmas tree pre-lit
A mole that wants removing
Off white walls, pale green carpet
Outfits from mail order catalogs
Paydays with no yearly bonus
Jeopardy and Wheel of fortune
Polyester perm press everything
Bic Stik ball point pen
Swanson's TV dinner
Flip phone with no camera
*** two times a week and Sunday
Writing verse nobody reads
ljm