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Myself
explored expressed explained
oblivion different reasons
over and over and over again
exposing what I’m feeling
though it never really quite makes sense
unless there’s someone healing
who kind of sort of gets the gist
and cradles their own meaning.
Fee-fi-fo-fum
giants
aren’t always
GIANT —
little one
When Hemingway writes
coffee
but doesn’t really
write about coffee
I crave it
Taste it
I smell it’s sorrow
And pour a cup
As the morning becomes I
And I the morning’s passing
Dying
Everything
Everyone
Always dying
Dead
And gone
People live
People die
And die
And on
For what is life
Without death
Knowing this
tiny secret, that
In death
there too
Is life.
Just the right
amount of whiskey
can make a poor man rich
and a rich man poor
it all just depends on
who’s asking for more.
There is a fine line
between
kicking the habit
and kicking yourself
but don’t kick yourself,
kick the habit.
And if you can’t
then kick this can.
Kick it as far as you wish
but understand
that a can is just a can
and a habit is just a habit
but you, yourself, and I
are much stronger
than all that, and well
it’s so strange how
we are so much more
than we care to admit.
Ugh it makes me sick.
But there’s a fine line and
it all just depends
on who’s who
and what you choose
to live for.
The habit?
or
Yourself?
What’s important though
is to recognize
the difference in both.
At the end of the day
I am nothing but
sweat and fat
and bad breath
and poems
strewn out among sage
and corkscrew, lighter, and coffee mug
wine and love for it all
all the things that I have carried
and still carry till this day
another night
another light
twinkling in the Friday night hysteria
of weekend fun
unseen.
Something is in the air today
And it’s not bad or good
Insidious perhaps
In fact I can hardly feel it
But it’s there, breathing
Be cautious whispers wind
Down the curvature of my spine
Into my core, something
Yes something is in the air today
There has to be a better way
than all this bitter pain
and suffering that after a while
no longer feels much like
pain and suffering but rather
mute normalcy of the day
which never really fully ends
and on into the night
which never allows for proper sleep.
Perhaps a song will help
my friend, for now
I think it’s for the best.
At the end of this life
if you can say
I did some things
I really, really enjoyed
and helped some people
along the way
all the while
laboring loves labyrinth
then that
I’d say
is a beautiful life.
Words Of An Average White Male 