Plethora

In my other incarnation I live out such a plethora
of conflict that you wouldn't think I'd survive,
would you, but I do; I wake up enraged, go to sleep
in numbed despair, face what I know perfectly well
is condescension and abstract contempt, get into
quarrels, shout, fret about people I don't even
know, live as if I were the only man in the world
trying to buck it all, work like a pig, strew my
whole apartment with notes, articles, books, get
frowzy, don't care, become stridently contentious,
sometimes laugh and weep within five minutes
together out of pure frustration. It takes me two
hours to get to sleep and an hour to get up. I
dream at my desk. I dream all over the place. I'm
very badly dressed. But O how I relish my
victuals!

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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