so I'm stuck with some soft over-refined

control-freak neurotic

who thinks a real moment of anguished expression

is some kind of out-of-control raving


no comprehension or sympathy

but self-denials measured in tonnage

and her pig-headedness will brook no opposition


sweet times have passed and we've reached our decline

(age and exhaustion as much a part of the mix

as a final throwing up of hands saying "enough!")


so ignore all your own afflictions

as your own will stumbles and meanders

whatever good we did ourselves seems past effectiveness

you're tired of my rawness and I've had it with your slanders....






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