bruckner

it was not a good day.
there was a jagged wretchedness inhabiting
my part of the world
and now I sit at this machine
tonight
hoping for some luck and some
light
but they refuse to
fire, things refuse to
fire.
wagner and brucker
on my
computer is
grand
but whatever was born in me
today
has been stamped
out, tossed
away.
I don't ask for your
sympathy
during this time.
I am just speaking to myself
and this is the medium through
which I speak.
still, if somebody reads
this
and your day and your
night
were
akin to mine,
then somehow we've touched,
stranger brother or
sister,
and we both understand that death is
not the
tragedy.
you are alone and I am
alone
and it's best that we aren't
alone
together
comparing our pitiful
sorrows
over the phone
or online
or in
writing

only let me sit before this
tired computer
strange friend,
and write this
final
dull
line:
thanking you
for reading
this far.