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The World's Bequest...

Unable to sleep any longer,
I woke up cursing the Sun,
That fiery mischief monger,
Gloating at what he'd done.


The jarring jackhammers,
Were making me crumble,
As the anchor's stammers,
Rendered news a jumble.


My favorite morning brew,
Seemed perfect in the cup,
Yet, flavored like a stew,

Couldn't get my spirits up.

The milk seemed to run,
More than it usually did,

The cereal, a lot of fun,
For the ants that had hid.

She could make me smile,
With her I'd been glad,
I heard rings for a while,
Didn't better what I had.

A column written gaily,
I'd hoped for in its pages,
Turning to the fat daily,
Filled only with ad images.

I cursed, before I tired,
Of the few words in loop,
If only I had acquired,
A larger, diverse troupe.

Everything inadequate,
A life fully foiled by dross,

One, they did not create,
But one they didn't gloss.

Why shouldn't I seethe,
Let down by my world?
Desire they did bequeath,
As also the abuses I hurled.

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