Life sucks.
Sucks energy, sucks spirit, sucks mobility;
draws sap of youth, leaving
shrivelled husk and sagging self
that sinks more often to its shelf;
this is a wasting disease that only
wasting diseases worsen.

In one great squeal of accidental
fusion, how much energy can be planted
in a battery of one cell?
We were bound to wear it down
and so we have.

And seek replenishment
in other great explosions
not properly ours to draw on.

Holà, Troubadour
Sing to me to ease
my fasting flesh;
my growing ears.

Can't.  Me knoockles all are
locked.
Arthuritis, Don't
Cheknow?

Yet all the while, countering the point,
Death sucks harder.
Death wins the contest of alternating currency.
Life sucks
wotthhell wotthehell wotthehell

Martha, have you seen my teeth?

©  Copyright, 2000; Malcolm Beckett