Monday, October 16, 2006

#176: October 16, 2006

Like Mithridates I've drunk poison straight
to steel my guts against life's miseries;
I've meditated on ignobe fate,
pre-tasted pain, sampled calamities;

It's pulled my eyebrows down, and lined my cheeks
around the corners of accustomed frowns;
it's fixed my eyes asquint, so that for weeks
sometimes I see no colors, only browns.

Maybe it's made me strong--but now I find
my tongue's so burned with vinegar and bile
it's hard to taste the sweets, and to my mind
it's easier to grimace than to smile.

With curses simpler than a prayer to speak,
I wonder if it's better to be weak.


Anonymous said...

Fuck you.

Sonnet Boy said...

Thanks! Please post again! :)