Heavy Bored

Like Huck, says I, with somewheres asking for the lit out
away—the dark void territory bristling in the plains
where faces are many,
names are few and seconds click by like full earth orbits,
even God seems numbed to wake sleep restless, even lazy.
Hell, creation is complete.

Man plods along trudging, knee-deep
life’s mud of errands, chores, free calendars
and blood kin
and friends, demands of heart-time and listening.
These eyes glaze, roll like doll-babies down, shut,
cat’s eyes marbles

worthless, seeing but never seeing the powerful play
that I think goes on—too poor to pay for verses.
Again unsure,
doubting anything interesting three times, that was denial,
and from the courtyard I see the sun brimming
to a cock’s yawn. Ahem.