Making Such a Mess

My mouth is dry, thirsting for the truth.

I dig and scrape the corners and reaches of my mind

Until I hit paydirt–I made such a mess to find

Answers that undercut even my expert pessimism.

My eyelids are heavy, the old hours are weighing

On my mind, so that the conclusion sinks in–

What I really want is to spend the new hours sleeping.

I made the new hours old, and realized upon waking

That time spent unconscious is only time wasted.

So you say you'd rather have someone new,

and I take your word for it, 'cause what else can I do?

But don't try to guilt me for having my doubts.

I know, more than a little, how these things turn out.