<\/p>\n
\u201cThen forth he came, his both
\nknees faltring, both
\nHis strong hands hanging downe,
\nand all with froth
\nHis cheeks and nosthrils flowing,
\nvoice and breath
\nSpent all to use, and down he
\nsunke to Death.
\nThe sea had soakt his heart
\nthrough; all his vaines
\nHis toils had racked t\u2019a laboring
\nwoman\u2019s paines
\nDead weary was he.\u201d<\/p>\n
— Keats\u2019 favorite lines from Chapman\u2019s Homer<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Tired. Tuckered, puckered, knocked out. I am so tired. Tired of being a man and the flesh I\u2019m found in. Tired of counting my beating heart and waiting on a number that has yet come up, tired of doctors and little paper cups.<\/p>\n
Tired. Kaput. Fire to soot. I am so tired. Tired like a stone that\u2019s seen it all or a tree that\u2019s withstood the fall, the inventions of eyes or the wooings of artists (those spies). Tired to death, even too tired to die. Tired. Tired of writing, why, why, why ???????<\/p>\n
Tired of fires that can\u2019t butt go out, tired of facts and figures (how does it figure?), tired of posture and procedure \u2013 that things just go on and on and on, tired of getting up each aching dawn.<\/p>\n
Tired of the smell of tires and the squeal of civilization, tired of the flowers that just die in the vase, tired of the next craze and the fool that asks for another one. Tired, too tired even to be amazed.<\/p>\n
Tired of obsolescence, the devirgined moon, the squeaky obscurity of scholars and the heavy eyes of noon. Tired of slowly growing old and watching others die, tired, just tired of so many goodbyes.<\/p>\n
Tired of selling and buying (nothing that IS, lasts), tired of crying cuz I lost my gold god damned watch (bought another), tired of beauty smothered, a curse and condition we\u2019ve caught.<\/p>\n
Tired of language emptied of effort, the babble of idiots adding to unmeasure, tired of the noise and the party line, even tired of red wine, so often I\u2019ve heard it slurped.<\/p>\n
Tired of rich food and rich men (always asking, when?), tired of art and the anything it can be, tired of counting and pretending to be free, tired of looking at the sadness of death everywhere buried deep (even in sleep), who gives a bleep?<\/p>\n
Tired of the silence of soap operas, the TV\u2019s hypnotic glow, of sing-songs and friends saying so-so, tired of gossip and the snitching we\u2019re always itching with. Tired, tired, I don\u2019t know. I can\u2019t imagine why.<\/p>\n
Tired of progress as it does undress, leaving nothing for the eyes, tired of hope and holding on, not giving up the ghost but always asking why. Tired of questions, the same answers \u2013 nothing new, so few I dos. Just ask, watch the nightly news.<\/p>\n
Tired of page turning, prepositions purposely misplaced, tired of saving face, culture and its clown paint, tired, so damn tired I think I\u2019m gonna faint \u2013 my brain just can\u2019t relate, predicate.<\/p>\n
Tired of getting up and going to bed, tired of cafes and the silence they shed. Tired of waiting in so many lines, tired, the authentic always one step behind, weighted down, future blind. My O My! Living is so unkind.<\/p>\n
Tired of laughs (cuz the jokes on us), tired of forgetting and the \u201cyour supposed to have fun.\u201d Tired of the heavy cross and the pettiness of a boss that never shows his face. Tired, tired, waste, waste, waste.<\/p>\n
Tired of tears that just come again. Like I said, tired of waiting and looking for what remains. Tired of hope and horoscopes and new hair, tired of swinging on the rope of despair (but who would care?).<\/p>\n
Tired of words (so misunderstood) and tired of drinking (so misunderstood), just to drink again (when will it ever end?), tired of dancing, the music\u2019s left the land, tired of it all, tired as a man can.<\/p>\n
Tired of cleaning my nails, of wiping my ass, tired of widows\u2019 window wails. Tired of broken dishes and car crashes, even tired of flicking ashes, Ecclesiastes, vanitas veritas, all else passes, but the earth abideth forever (which is the same as never).<\/p>\n
Tired of trying my best, of getting ahead (and getting head), tired of sensation and the days that bend, into each other without end. Tired of alarm clocks and the secret message they send.<\/p>\n
Tired of toasters and technology \u2013 buttons, dials, switches and knobs. Tired of telephones and the red light flashing on. Tired of escalators and elevators (the endless up and down), tired of traffic and transit (the continual getting off and getting around).<\/p>\n
Tired of too much, too many and especially too few. Tired of him, her (and even you!). Tired of everything in front of me and all behind, tired \u2018cause nothing\u2019s left to find, nothing can ever truly be mine.<\/p>\n
Tired of excuses (excuse me) and having tos, tired of getting ready and having to be somewhere, tired of brushing my hair, even putting on my underwear, tired of being clean and polite (I swear @!!*:##?!!@!***!).<\/p>\n
Tired of tick tocks, clocks tick, time the sand merchant, growing grain after grain (for what gain?). Tired of eternity\u2019s unproven undulation, of the moment, the hesitation upon which it sails, tired like Jonas in the belly of this big whale (I wail).<\/p>\n
Tired of places but mostly people (always trying to be real, to feel, but what else could they be ?), tired of the strangers I meet but never greet, as I pass them in the street (who are they I ask, do they eat meat?), tired of being one among many, the crush and throng, I\u2019m just a penny.<\/p>\n
Tired of summer\u2019s shadows and winter\u2019s wasted white, tired of fall\u2019s failing, springs unsprung, songs not begun by busyness and blankly being bored. I\u2019m tired of being ignored.<\/p>\n
Tired of things unsaid, of being unread, of those that wed, led like lambs to the shear. Tired of being near, to life, to pressing nature, the creature inside I can\u2019t see (which won\u2019t ever waver).<\/p>\n
Tired of sinning and playing the saint, tired of doing wrong (the right (us) can relate). Tired of priests and boys, tired of laws, society\u2019s noise. Tired of hate and love too \u2013 where one ends the other conquerors you.<\/p>\n
Tired of hills heaped in hope, tired of fate, always being late. Tired of careers and promotions, the unquivering devotion to a job well done (only to be undone).<\/p>\n
Tired of dollar bills and money, even the sweetness of honey (my! the bees are busy buzzing!), tired of lust and pleasures, old hungers now carefully measured, by age\u2019s leisure, tired of drink and song, things done cuz we want to belong.<\/p>\n
Tired of the hole, the absence inside, the aloneness, the abscess so wide! Tired of colours that must fade, all the troubles into I must wade, tired of never being still. Why do I exist against my will ????????? Is there a pill?<\/p>\n
Tired. I am so tired.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u201cThen forth he came, his both knees faltring, both His strong hands hanging downe, and all with froth His cheeks and nosthrils flowing, voice and breath Spent all to use, and down he sunke to Death. The sea had soakt his heart through; all his vaines His toils had racked t\u2019a laboring woman\u2019s paines … Continue reading I Am So Tired<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-39","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/ddeubel.me\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/39","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/ddeubel.me\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/ddeubel.me\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ddeubel.me\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ddeubel.me\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=39"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/ddeubel.me\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/39\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":442,"href":"https:\/\/ddeubel.me\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/39\/revisions\/442"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/ddeubel.me\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=39"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ddeubel.me\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=39"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ddeubel.me\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=39"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}