You can sense it you know,
yourself shutting down—again
with the change of scenery, again
with the change of heart.
It’s like trying to stop a freight train
running yourself empty, till
all there is is but to explode.
It’s a very empty place to be living.
It’s a very empty place to be born.
It’s a beautiful fall day, though, isn’t it?
Isn’t it beautiful, this
in depth exhibition of yourself—
without the guts, with all the answers
and nothing all that good say.