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It Comes

written by: R. Bremner


It comes.
It comes every day, every morning, afternoon, and night.
It doesn’t bother to knock at our door,
It slips in unnoticed.

It finds us
Sitting in chairs, chatting
Working on the car, together
Shooting hoops with buddies
Enjoying a rousing music concert
Riding a jampacked train or bus or plane
It finds us

And silently does its best
To do its worst to us

And we can only hope
Or pray
That it will tire of its joyless mirth
And leave us forever

R. Bremner

R. Bremner

R. Bremner has written of incense, peppermints, and the color of time since the 1970s.. He appeared in 1979’s first issue of Passaic Review, the same issue which featured Allen Ginsberg. Please check out his books Hungry Words (Alien Buddha Press), Absurd (Cajun Mutt Press), Ektomorphic (Presa Press), Pencil Sketches (Clare Songbirds Publications), and Chambers (New Feral Press). He lives with his beautiful sociologist wife, brilliant son, and frisky Plott Hound in Glen Ridge, New Jersey, USA.
R. Bremner

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