Weary

I am weary
Weary of the grind
Weary of the blare
Of unwanted television news
Of the cry of talking heads
Creating economic disaster
With their intrusive blather
Crying in the spilt beer
Of lost financial gain
Weary of television, radio, internet.

I want to run to the hills
Hope for poor signals
Hope for undelivered papers
I want to walk in a woods
Filled with promise
As jack in the pulpits
Sneak through the debris
As May apples lift up.
I want to be scolded by squirrels
Angry that I have walked into their woods
I want to sit under an oak
Simply listen to the world
And perhaps sleep
Perhaps dream.