DEPRESSION DOGS HIM

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He’s bored, broken and burning,

Hot with ill-defined yearning…

The computer dogs

Wherever he logs,

Losing  room for turning.

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Keeps going back to a trough,

And wearily hears…”HANDS OFF…”

Stops when noticed

Ignoring  the closest

All live persons he puts off.

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The plan–pull back and regroup–

Get his mind out of the soup…

His last poetry

Of the night, you’ll see,

He’s not an unthinking dupe.

–Jonathan Caswell

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