Home » Posts tagged 'death' (Page 21)
While someone’s tightening the belt
strapped firmly around the throat
and another’s sporting her crown of thorns
trailing hoots and hollers towards hell
there’s a man dressed casual
waiting for the bus, and it’s cold
and he’s dancing with himself
and he’s smiling, sadly so am I.
I can say I failed
Or
I can say it worked out
just as it was supposed to
And
her and I can move forward
knowing our paths weren’t meant to cross
Again
the past is all we had in common
and well, the past must be laid to rest.
Sleep well my friend
until then
I wish I hadn’t been so mean
But
I wish you only the best,
even though I’m sure that’s hard to believe.
A large portion of
poetry is spam.
But I don’t eat that stuff,
at least not until I get to see Hawaii
then who knows?
I hear, fried with an egg, it’s good.
When in Rome, you know;
when in Rome.
I made Pico de Gallo
the other day
and it needed salt
so I added salt
then put it away.
Then I took a nap
and woke up
more tired
than I’d been before I’d shut my eyes.
Then I wrote a song
drank some beer and
called it a day.
Nobody had to know I existed
and I was fine with that.
The Pico still needs work though,
I’ll send word.
I have past the point of no return
where apologies have lost there meaning
Where no explanation is needed
because hell has frozen over, and I swear
I saw a pig fly the other night
but perhaps that was just my reflection
bopping down Magnolia Boulevard
watching taillights fade
and counting them like crows
One, then two, and four and eight
Oh I thought, what a burden it is to sleep
and what a wonder it is to wake.
I made a phone call that night too
and said some terrible things
that by way of the universe
I guess I just needed to say.
I am that guy sometimes — not all —
but sometimes pigs do fly.
So this is who I am
I won’t apologize
Good luck out there
If you stop judging it all,
it’s actually quite wonderful.
Nobody
sleeps. We
just break our feet
and walk again.
And again.
And again.
Then awake as if
from a dream
in a rented room
which smells of
antiseptic soap.
And like a child
waiting to be fed
we struggle
struggle to breathe
struggle to see
struggle to hear
we struggle to be
like we wish we had been
all those years
we couldn’t sleep.
I took off my clothes
my skin suit
and rattled my bones
clicked my heels
and down the hatch
I went spiraling forth
into a bleak oblivion
where not even the dark
could hide, I
stood staring into nothing like
a Mona Lisa replica
my conscience hung midair
like a wine stained sheet
pinned neatly to dry
and there were no bones about it
I had completely lost my mind
stumbling down West 4th and Pine
crossing line after line, every time
after time just me, myself, and I
delirious in my delusion
picking homeless men off the street
with tears in both our eyes
I’m no different than you my dear friend
neither are you from I, he said
you’re going to be all right, he said
as for me well, I’ve lived a storied life, he ended
with a reassuring glance as I handed him two dimes
for it was all I had
collecting my clothes
skin suit and conscience
brave the winter, he said
spring needs you
Life was shit
and life
was all we had
stuck staring
at the Casco Bay
from a lighthouse
that dark summer
where nothing
would go right
and everything went
predictably wrong.
We held each other
in the morning fog
sharing our breath
as if on life support
barely hanging on
you and I and a plug
but we’d picked blueberries
earlier that month
and though life
was shit that summer
nothing went to waste.
Beware the desperate man
though he longs for love
keep in mind he only needs
a friend. And understand
the desperate woman
though pain in her virtue
there’s much strength
in her hand. So when at
the Devil’s Crossroads
wind whipped bodies bare
man and woman tremble
with nothing left to fear.
I need someone
with gun in hand
cocked cold and ready
against my head
perhaps then
I’d have the reason
to finish this all red eh
I’ve lost interest
with no six gauge to my chest
fire crackers maybe
I’ve the strength to digest
Hell who am I kidding
I’m no good at roulette
but to settle for less, no
I’d rather be shot dead.
Words Of An Average White Male 