I’ve explained already how I’m sick
of the weather, how muggy it’s been,
but I don’t think that you were paying
any attention. Face it,
your retention of new information –
the melody of a song, a profound phrase
on a page, a familiar shape in the clouds –
is avowedly poor. This is why
I’m always unsure of whether or not
I should tell you anything
regarding what’s going on my life.
I’m always departing from the varieties
of strife arrayed against me.
Shame that it is, I think that you
may be among their ranks,
rank and defiled as old textbooks.