7/23/12

chalkboard.




It's a down-dump morning. I'm frustrated at how much sad comes out in my poems. But here they are, starched shirt and shoes laced.

xx, C


---

My bumbling life slows down 

In its speedy suspenders. 

And I wonder and pluck at

The green messy mess before me.

Looking it in the orb, looking at

It in the nostril. Until not much

Changes but my level of frustration.

My life doesn't answer, it just rests there

In my lap, like a sickly elder.

And I watch as every other life 

strolls by. And that sick pine-smell

Dread soaks through me. 

And I fluster because

My life has stopped but not yet my heart.

---

I start it by saying "somehow"

I start it by looking him in the eyes.

I start it by pressing firmly on the so-called button.

I start it by noticing that the thing started a long time ago

And I am not even late for the party, I'm into the next week.

And I can't move. Can't get out of bed, barely washed

And dressed and soldered to this bump bump bump train

To this wired clicking thing. 

My bashful soul holding on and hiding like the humble pie

I ate as a babe.

 ---

I don't know it. The words to this song.

I can write a little poem about it,

I can describe the feeling the sounds

make on my tongue. But really this is

An old game. 

And the verbs have legs and the tune

Knows the hustle, and my muscles are weak

I can hardly stand.

But I do it anyway, my leaned on cane

Turned serpent and the music

Speckles on as I hide in my trundle bunker.

1 comment:

  1. This hit me super, hard:
    " My life doesn't answer, it just rests there

    In my lap, like a sickly elder.

    And I watch as every other life

    strolls by. And that sick pine-smell

    Dread soaks through me.

    And I fluster because

    My life has stopped but not yet my heart."
    Damn.

    ReplyDelete

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