— empty days filled
with time,
and its many empty deaths,
so painfully slow;
bloodred sunsets and all that jazz,
hot norwesters and freezing rain …
while political speeches drag hindquarters
like a dog to slow death,
its backbone shattered;
like the unemployed hours
that suck blood from the heart of hope
— the day differs from its sire
only in its lame excuses —
I am Unemployment:
no teen devil of mediaeval night,
no ancient Commie demon
ever stalked your souls
with such savage thirst,
such diabolical delight
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