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Poem for Robert Johnson

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Whining is basic to the human condition

We see our problems coming like Viking long ships on the horizon

And we say we will not be able to bear them

Then they come

And we bear them

Of course we do

Our hue and cry don't matter one rat's ass

We can beat our chests and wail to heaven

We can rage rage rage against the dying of the ...whatever

Still

Sooner of later death carries every living thing away

Everyone fails

Every day

In a million little ways

Heartbreaks nest like roaches in the kitchen

Yet the fact remains

No man or woman in this world knows what real trouble is

No matter what happens it could always get worse

Most of our suffering is anticipation

And takes place between our ears

An anchor we tie around our own waists every morning