[working, resting ]

moving out of the old house must have been really hard
because it seems to have taken everything
out of you.
you can go days without talking to any of us
or anyone else, either.
you're not there for me when i need you,
but there is always food. and light. and it's
not like there aren't four walls and a bed or two.
and you don't yell or scream or even
ask where we're going,
you'll live from one day to the next
in the same room. book in hand.
always either
resting or working.

It's not like I've been here before. What else do I expect?

[ Another fossil, dated March 2009 ]

it's over -
over.
There's nothing more to understand
no lines left to speak.
We watched the curtain fall,
the last act
of the season
and no encore calls,
not this time.
It's over, now and there
is no going back.

the play was a rotten
stinking thing
watch them shift and
wring their programs in agony
all through the final dialogues.

what's left to say?
and even if you were to
make your way
to the front of the stage,
look over the sullen seats and
soda cans and bray
"...."

no one's listening. no one cares.
It's over.