Boredom doesn’t really belong in poetry
but that’s changed in the last century.
Poetry has moved from flowers to honesty.
Boredom (Berryman) pops up more recently.
If we admit poetry is boring, we may as well
make it a subject of poetry as far as I can tell.
Boredom, for me, was just—boredom.
But like the history of poetry, I’ve changed.
I now think boredom is death. My father’s chief complaint,
from year to year, before he died, was boredom.
When I’m bored, I feel everything shutting down.
Creeps are bored. That’s the vibe you get
when you see them hanging around downtown.
Criminals who die young tend to be bored as hell;
there is a connection, as far as I can tell.
And what do they do to criminals? Put them in prison.
Prison isn’t bad. Free food. A roof over your head.
The punishment of prison is boredom. Boredom
is the worst punishment there is. Our judicial system
proves it. Boring poetry is just like ringing a bell.
Poetry is boring. Inside that boredom is hell.
Boredom is death. But it’s all boring, as far as I can tell.