I sometimes feel tired and barren

I sometimes feel tired and barren
like a hillside in a mining town, grey bricks
for icons, an elegy of dubious resolution,
where praise is hard to come across,
as there was little in the way of accomplishments
in my day.
what other options remain other than making
your blood quicker day by day? pace set loose
identically in every one,
a congenital violence that becomes the air
we share, the deprecation of what got us here
in the first place.
An ancient and cornered framework,
wrecked by the tireless work
of marxist exegesis, these arches become witnesses
whose deposition few want to hear
(they have other entertainments in their metal shores),
unacknowledged masonry.

Only I, today, stroll by and stop to try and "hear"
the tingle in my stomach.

Everyone else, I suspect, loathe their lives,
but they don't see a lash to gnaw at. Poor fuckers.

As for me I indulge in the illusion that this
passes for creativity. Poor fucker.

(phew, I was lucky to find a way to tie up and close
this piece of shit)