CPJournal #5

Recycled Ink'

And so it begins

to seem that every word

written

reads like something

I’ve read,

heard before

that every line,

a familiar road

I’ve already traveled

and my own thoughts

Confused mutterings

I no longer trust as my own

but know deep down they are

as I go through

this day in and day out

repetition

Of blind depravity and

mindless existence

Waking each morning

to the same sour song

Of the same old, same old

Of this aging face

that frowns

at my reflection

repeating itself

with worn out speech

and the tears that fall again

as reminders

Covering new pages

with the familiar ink

Of days gone by

© Debbie Berk

Covert Press

© 2008 covert poetics last updated 7/4/08