I’m too tired for sleep
too old to know what
I need and too complex
to live life only reflectively
Fun feels like rent seeking
amusement turns quickly
entropic, and once a fan
of what’s random, now feels
simply erratic
I wish for the static, yen for the
stoic, think the heroic passé…
But what can I say…
I fancy myself a poet
And the rhyme within reason
suggest that a treason regrettably
seasons the day