Vallejo inspired, I suppose

The Stupor that Dulls
after Vallejo

The stupor that dulls the edge of hope,
that grinds to pulp the stillborn word,
that stultifies the worker’s hands
to motionless stumps;

The stupor that slowly drains the pus of youth
and leaves dried blister skin,
that refuses to kill but keeps alive
futility like the unwed bride;

The stupor that steals love from love
and leaves a hollow vowel to echo
against the chains of its own heart;

The stupor that leaves the dead undead
to continue lives of muted discontent
so muted it sloths to bed night
after dreamless, restless night;

The stupor that envies the stiff-eyed man
who stares out over the park, over the drive,
over the promised lies of satisfaction
absorbing nothing;

The stupor that sits in the open garage door
in stained undershirt, in aluminum lawnchair,
smoking cigars and drinking whiskey highballs
as leaves blow unnoticed around the feet.